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Dondon: Ο J. CLAY anv SONS, 
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE, 
AVE MARIA LANE. 

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Pape, AN) LETTERS 


IN 


Pre FOURTH CENTURY 


BY 


TERROT. REAVELEY GLOVER M.A. 


CLASSICAL LECTURER AND FORMERLY FELLOW OF ST JOHN'S COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE 
LATE PROFESSOR OF LATIN IN QUEEN’S UNIVERSITY CANADA 


CAMBRIDGE 
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 


190I 


Cambridge : 
PRINTED BY J. & C. F. CLAY 
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. 


Το 
_ JOHN WATSON 
JOHN MACNAUGHTON 
ΤῊΝ ἐς 

JAMES CAPPON 


ΠΝ MEMORY OF 


PREFACE 


HEN studying the history of the early Roman Empire 
the reader has at call a thousand impressions of the 
writers of the day, whom he has read from boyhood, and 
who have helped to form the mind and the temper with 
which he reads. But the same does not hold of the period 
of the Gothic invasions and the fall of Paganism. The litera- 
ture is extensive, but it is not known, it is hardly read. No 
one who has given it a sympathetic study can call it wanting 
in pathos or power, but the traditions of scholarship point 
in another direction. An age that can boast an Augustine 
and a Synesius in prose, a Claudian and a Prudentius in 
poetry, is nevertheless in general ignored, except by scholars 
engaged in some special research, who use them as sources. 


My endeavour has been, by reading (if I may use the 
expression) across the period, to gain a truer knowledge be- 
cause a wider. Then, bearing in mind its general air and 
character, I have tried to give the period to my reader, not 
in a series of generalizations but in a group of portraits. I 
have tried to present the men in their own way, carefully 
and sympathetically ; to shew their several attempts, successful 
or unsuccessful, to realize and solve the problems common 
to them all; and to illustrate these attempts from their 
environment, literary, religious and political. As far as pos- 
sible, I have tried to let them tell their own tale, to display 
themselves in their weakness and their strength. 


viii Preface 

I have deliberately avoided the writers, whose work may 
be strictly called technical or special, for those whose concern 
was more with what is fitly called literature, but I have 
at the same time not forgotten the former. For instance, 
to have treated the theological writings of Athanasius or 
Augustine at all adequately would have gone far beyond my 
present limits. And indeed it was less necessary to attempt 
this, as it has been done fully and ably by others. Rather 
my concern has been with the world in which the philosopher 
and the theologian found themselves, and I trust that some 
who study them may find help in my effort to picture this 
world. For such students I am only supplying background. 
Still I hope this background may have for those who are 
interested in the refraction of light as well as in light itself, 
a value and an interest as a presentment of an important 
and even pathetic moment in the history of our race. 


As my course has been across the period, I have had 
again and again to explore a fresh stream upward and toward 
its source. Every writer has his own antecedents, and some 
consideration of these has been in every case necessary. No 
stream however lacks tributaries, and some have many. I 
suppose that of all of these I should have had some personal 
knowledge, but as this would have meant a constantly widening 
and never-ending series of independent researches, I have 
done the human thing in accepting the work of other men 
in outlying regions, while surveying as far as I could myself 
the lands adjacent to my particular subject in each instance. 
In such cases I have generally given my authority. It may 
very well occur that specialists will find blunders in detail 
in my work, I have found them myself in places where I 
felt secure. But I trust that no blunders will be found of 
such dimensions as to un-focus any of my portraits or at least 
to affect at all materially my general picture. 


I have made constant use of the works of Gibbon, of 
M. Boissier, of Dr Hodgkin and Professor Bury. Other books 


ἜΣ Τ᾽ ΞΕ ΩΨ Ὁ Ξε re eee 


Preface ix 


which I have consulted are mentioned in the various notes. 
Professor Dill’s interesting book, Roman Society in the last 
Century of the Western Empire, I did not see till some seven 
of my chapters were written. As in one or two places his work 
and mine have overlapped, I felt I had less freedom to use 
his book, but in general it. will be found that our periods and 
provinces have been quite distinct. My table of dates is based 
chiefly on Goyau, Chronologie del’ Empire Romain. Dr Sandys 
has been kind enough to read some of my proofs. 

Most of my work on this volume has been done in Canada. 
Those who know the difficulties with which young Universities 
have to contend in “all the British dominions beyond the 
seas,” difficulties incident to young countries and as a rule 
bravely faced and overcome, will not be surprised that the 
Library at my disposal was small. But any one who knows 
Queen's University will understand what compensations I have 
had for a limited number of books in the friendship, the 
criticism and the encouragement of the colleagues to whom 
I have dedicated my work. 


Sr Joun’s CoLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
September, 1901. 


CONTENTS 


ter I. Introduction. . ips eno em 
_ IL Ammianus Marcellinus ieee TS LP μὴ 20 


. . . . . 


pters may be found by 


310 
325 


339 


341 
342 


343 


TABLE OF DATES 


?Ausonius born at Bordeaux. 


Council of Nicaea. 

Gallus, brother of Julian, born. 
?Ammianus Marcellinus born (or later). 
?St Silvia of Aquitaine born. 


‘Helena goes to Palestine. 


Athanasius bishop of Alexandria. 
Death of Helena on her return from Palestine. 


Consecration of Constantinople. 

Julian born. 

Monnica born. 

The “Bordeaux pilgrim” goes to Palestine. 


Death of Constantine. Succession of Constantius and his brothers 
Constans and Constantine. 

Murder of eight members of the Imperial family. 

Sapor besieges Nisibis for sixty-three days, but cannot take it. 

Eusebius of Nicomedeia, bishop of Constantinople. 


Death of Eusebius of Caesarea, the historian. 


Constantine the younger invades Italy and is killed. His share of 
the Empire passes to Constans. 

?St Ambrose born. 

?St Jerome born. 

?Symmachus born (or later). 

Incursions of Franks into Gaul. 


Death of Eusebius of Nicomedeia. 
Peace made with the Franks. 


Councils of Sardica and Philippopolis. 


946 


347 
348 


349 
350 


351 
352 


353 


354 


355 


356 
357 


359 


360 


Table of Dates xiii 


Sapor again besieges Nisibis, but after seventy-eight days abandons 
the siege. 


? John Chrysostom born. 


War with Persia. 
Prudentius born. 


Sapor for the third time besieges Nisibis in vain. 


Magnentius, a German, declared Emperor in Gaul. 

Death of Constans. 

Vetranio proclaimed Emperor at Sirmium (1 March). 

Magnentius master of Rome. 

Conference of Constantius with Vetranio (25 Dec.). Vetranio’s sol- 
diers desert him. He is pardoned by Constantius. 

Gallus recalled to Constantius’ court, and made Caesar next year. 


War between Constantius and Magnentius. 


Magnentius loses Italy and falls back on Gaul. 
Liberius bishop of Rome. 


Constantius marries Eusebia. 
Magnentius, defeated and deserted, kills himself. 
Paulinus (afterwards bishop of Nola) born at Bordeaux. 


Constantius at war against the Alamanni. 
Fall of Gallus. 
Augustine born (13 Nov.) at Thagaste. 


Campaign of Constantius against Alamanni. 

Julian at Milan, and afterwards at Athens. 

Revolt of Silvanus. 

Franks, Alamanni and Saxons invade Gaul. 

Julian declared Caesar, and married to Helena. He pronounces his 
first panegyric on Constantius and goes to Gaul. . 


Julian retakes Cologne, held by Germans 10 months. 


Julian, in supreme command in Gaul, crosses the Rhine and defeats 
the Germans. 
Constantius visits Rome. 


Gratian born. 
Sapor crosses the Euphrates. 
Siege and fall of Amid. 


Julian’s second panegyric to Constantius. 

Further operations of Sapor. Constantius prepares to meet him. 
Soldiers proclaim Julian Emperor. 

The Empress Eusebia dies. 

?Stilicho born (or earlier). 


361 


362 


363 


364 


365 


366 


367 
368 
369 


370 
371 


372 
373 
374 
375 


376 
377 
378 


Table of Dates 


Constantius marries Faustina. 

Julian crosses the Rhine and Constantius the Euphrates ; both suc- 
cessful in their foreign campaigns and march against each other. 

Death of Constantius (Nov.). 

Julian enters Constantinople (Dec.), and orders re-opening of 
temples, and proclaims toleration. 

Bishop George murdered in Alexandria. 


Julian goes to Antioch (midsummer). 

Heathen revival. 

Julian’s Persian campaign. 

Death of Julian (June). 

Jovian, Emperor, surrenders Nisibis and five provinces to Sapor. 


Death of Jovian (Feb.). 
Valentinian and Valens, Emperors, in West and East respectively. 
Saxons, Picts and Scots ravage Britain. Alamanni in Gaul. 


Avianius Symmachus prefect of Rome. 
Revolt of Procopius. 

? Sulpicius Severus born. 

? Synesius born (Volkmann). 


Fall of Procopius. 

Death of Liberius bishop of Rome. Fight of Ursinus and Damasus 
for see of Rome. Damasus bishop. 

Valens crosses the Danube to meet the Goths. 

The Count Theodosius in Britain. He takes London. 


Campaign of Valentinian against Alamanni across the Rhine. 
Symmachus and Ausonius follow the expedition. 


Ausonius writes the Mosella. 

Rising of Firmus in Africa. 

Death of Patricius, Augustine’s father. 

Adeodatus, son of Augustine, born. 

Death of Athanasius. 

Ambrose bishop of Milan. 

Death of Valentinian. Gratian succeeds him and refuses the title 
Pontifex Maximus. Valentinian II also Emperor, aged 5 years. 

Count Theodosius beheaded at Carthage. 

Arcadius born. 


Paulinus consul. 

Gothic war. Defeat and death of Valens at Adrianople. 

The younger Theodosius (I) succeeds him as Emperor in the East 
(379). 


δον εὐ 


ss ΝΡ ὙΨΝ 


379 
381 
383 


384 


385 


387 


388 


390 


391 


392 


393 
394 


395 


396 
397 


398 


Table of Dates XV 


Ausonius consul. 
Council of Constantinople. 


Maximus proclaimed Emperor by his soldiers in Britain. He crosses 
to Gaul. War with Gratian. 

Murder of Gratian. Peace between Maximus and Valentinian II. 

Augustine goes to Rome. ‘ 


Honorius born. 
Death of bishop Damasus, who is succeeded by Siricius. 


Stilicho’s campaign in Britain against Picts, Scots and Saxons. 
Theophilus bishop of Alexandria. 


Affair of the Statues at Antioch. 
Baptism of Augustine. 
Maximus invades Italy. 


Defeat and death of Maximus. 


Massacre at Thessalonica by Theodosius’ orders. Ambrose forbids 
him the church, 


Symmachus consul. 
Anti-pagan legislation by Theodosius. 


Valentinian II murdered by order of Arbogast, who makes Eugenius 
Emperor, in Gaul. 


Eugenius comes to Italy and issues decrees in favour of paganism. 


Flavian reestablishes pagan rites in Italy. His soldiers desert 
him on approach of Theodosius, and he commits suicide. 

Battle of the Frigidus between Theodosius and Eugenius (5 Sept.). 

Theodosius defeats and kills Eugenius (6 Sept.). 

Theodosius visits Rome. 


Death of Theodosius at Milan. The Empire is divided between his 
sons Honorius (West) and Arcadius (East). 

Probinus and Olybrius consuls. 

Alaric invades Greece. 

Fall of Rufinus, minister at Constantinople. 


_ Augustine bishop of Hippo. 


Stilicho blockades Alaric at Pholoe. Alaric escapes somehow. 


Synesius goes to Constantinople. 

Gildo the Moor transfers his allegiance from Rome to Constantinople, 
and stops the corn supply of Rome. 

Chrysostom bishop of Constantinople. 


War with Gildo, who is defeated and killed. 


Table of Dates 
Revolt of Tribigild the Goth in Phrygia. 
Fall of Eutropius. Affair of Gainas in Constantinople. 


Stilicho and Aurelian consuls. 
? Death of St Martin. 


Battle of Pollentia (Hodgkin). 
Honorius visits Rome. 
Deposition of Chrysostom. 
Cerealis governor of Pentapolis. 
Death of Chrysostom. 


Murder of Stilicho. 
First siege of Rome by Alaric. -. 
Death of Arcadius. Succeeded by Theodosius IT. 


Second siege of Rome by Alaric. 


Third siege of Rome and its capture by Alaric (24 Aug.). 
Synesius bishop of Ptolemais. 


Death of Theophilus bishop of Alexandria. Succeeded by Cyril. 
? Death of Synesius. 

Murder of Hypatia. 

Return of Rutilius Namatianus to Gaul. 


a 


CHAPTER I 


INTRODUCTION 


BEFORE proceeding to the study of the fourth century in the 
lives and writings of a series of typical men, it will be well to take a 
general survey of the period as a whole. Such a course, without 
the further study, is apt to be unfruitful and unsatisfactory, yet as 
a preface to it, it may help the student to a right orientation. The 
different phases of the century’s life will be dealt with at more 
length in the various essays, in which many things set here will find 
fuller illustration. Here however in the meantime our concern is 
with general outlines and broad statements. For the sake of clear- 
ness certain main lines will be followed,—a plan which has the 
drawback, incidental to all such dissection, of failing to shew in the 
fullest way the interlacing of forces and tendencies which con- 
stantly react on one another. [ shall try to shew something of 
this in my summary, but it is best felt when we read the period in 
flesh and blood, 

Let us begin with the Roman Empire—difficult indeed to grasp 
in all its meanings, and apart from the Church the 
greatest factor in history. What it first meant to * a ie 
mankind was peace and law. We may be shocked to phe thea 
read here of a Roman governor in Spain or there of 
one in Asia burning men alive in the days of Cicero and Virgil, of 
endless crucifixions, of the extortions of a Verres, of venal rulers 
and infamous publicans. Yet there is another side to all this, for 
in the first place we know of all these things chiefly because they 
shocked the Roman conscience. There was a great deal more that 
should have shocked it but did not, because the world was not yet 


G. 1 


2 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


educated. In the next place, what did the Empire replace? We 
do not know this so well, but where we have any light we see that 
it was generally a change for the better. The sentimentalist may 
sigh for Greek freedom and for the national independence of other 
races, but in the great age of Greece liberty had meant the right 
of single cities to rule themselves, and what was now left of it was 
worse than worthless, while the other peoples had never (with one 
exception) been very clearly conscious of their nationality. The 
peoples of the East had reached high levels. of civilization and 
organization, but through all the centuries of their intellectual and 
-commercial development they had been under the sway of the 
foreigner. In the West there was even less national conscious- 
ness', for there Rome had faced not nations, but clans, never 
united except by accident and always ready to quarrel. When at 
last the peoples of Gaul and Spain began to feel conscious of their 
race, they voiced their feelings in Latin. Rome thus had not to 
extinguish nationalities, but rather she replaced here despotism 
and there anarchy with the solid advantages of a steady govern- 
ment, if severe, at least conscientious. 

If Rome’s yoke was heavy (and at times it weighed very heavily 
on some unlucky province), still hardly any attempt was made to 
throw it off. Rome had not as a rule to dread rebellion when 
once the charm of a hereditary dynasty was broken. Almost the 
sole exception is the Jewish people, a race made self-conscious by 
its own prophets, by its Babylonian captivity and by the tyranny of 
Antiochus Epiphanes and his like. Here the Roman met his 
match, and here was the one people to impose its will upon him. 
While everywhere the Roman government was sensitive to local 
peculiarities of administration and religion and careful to respect 
them where it was possible not to alter them, with the Jew special 
terms had to be made wherever he was. His Sabbath, his syna- 
gogue, his temple dues, the jurisdiction of his elders were all 
conceded to him; but even so Rome had to face rebellion after 
rebellion, and when that stage was past there still survived the 
Jewish riot in Alexandria. Here alone Rome failed, but with 
every other race once mistress she was mistress for ever, making all 
peoples equal and members one of another under her sway. 

The Roman roads bound the Empire together. They were kept 


1 Cf. Seeck, Gesch. des Untergangs der antiken Welt i. (second edition), 
pp. 207—212, on ‘diese Schwiiche des Staatsbewusstseins und des National- 
gefiihls”” among the early Germans. 


σους τον πα ΨΥ τ 


Introduction 3 


in order and they were safe, and freedom of travel and trade 


prevailed as never before. In the West the schoolmaster was the 
sturdy ally of the government, and Latin culture bound Gaul and 
Spaniard to Rome till any other form of rule became inconceivable. 
Roman law found one of its most famous seats at the university of 
Berytus in Syria, while in the West it shaped the thoughts and 
conceptions of men to such an extent that it imposed itself at last 
upon the Church and its theology, from which it is not yet eradi- 
cated nor likely to be. East and West agreed in the belief that 
Rome’s rule was eternal. Afrahat the Syrian and Tertullian the 
first great Latin father alike inculcate that the fall of the Roman 
Empire will not come till the Day of Judgment and the world’s 
end. In a certain sense they are no doubt right, but their prophecy 
was of the formal government of Rome. ‘The distress caused by 
the Gothic invasions is partly to be traced to the feeling that, if 
Rome fell, there was no possible power to take her place. Thus 
she stood for law, for peace and quiet, and for the general order of 
the universe. She was a necessary part of the universe, and her 
rule was a postulate for all rational thought on society. 

Yet there was a bad side to all this. All power was cen- 
tralized in the Emperor, more and more so as the 
generations passed, partly from the jealousy of the 
ruler and partly from the habits of obedience and reliance induced 
by long dependence. The faculty for self-government was paralysed 
by long disuse. Men were at first afraid and afterwards unable to 
think and move for themselves’. The consequences of such a 
decline are hard to compute, but the general helplessness of the 
Roman provinces in the face of invaders, numerically inferior but 
strong in the self-reliance of a free people without much govern- 
ment, is perhaps the most striking evidence of decay. 

Another source of mischief was bad finance. From very early 
days the prejudice that trade is an unworthy occupation for a noble 
and high-spirited man had survived. No great industries were 
developed, and the world was poorer for want of the ingenuity they 
stimulate and the wealth they bring. The slave system was no doubt 
in part responsible for this, but not altogether. Industries depend 


Its weakness. 


1 Tacitus already remarks an inscitia reipublicae ut alienae—a striking 
phrase (Hist. i. 1). Seeck, op. cit. pp. 287—8, calls attention to the effect of 
the proscriptions in removing the brave and independent, and leaving only the 
weaker to be the fathers of a new generation—themselves and their children 
alike cowed by these examples of the results of independence. See p. 343. 


1—2 


4 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


on intelligence and observation, and these were depressed by the 
conditions of absolute government, and there was no foreign society 
to quicken them by competition and correspondence. As if this 
were not enough, taxation was arranged on fatal principles. ‘The 
middle classes paid all the taxes, and, the towns being taxed as 
units, with every loss to the circle of tax-payers the burden was 
more and more intolerable for the rest. The lower classes, at least 
in Rome, were fed, amused and bathed for nothing. Free grain, 
free wine, free pork and free oil may trace their descent from the 
laws of Gaius Gracchus. ‘The extravagant beast-shows and gladia- 
torial games were another legacy from senatorial Rome, and these 
were a tax on the rich all over the Empire. Symmachus spent 
£80,000, equivalent I suppose to four times the sum to-day, on one 
set of shows. Beast-catching was indeed a flourishing, if an unpro- 
ductive, industry. Money was wasted in other ways, especially 
after Diocletian’s remodelling of the imperial system and his 
establishment of two Emperors and two Caesars, each of the four 
with an extravagant court. Presents to the Emperor were another 
form of extortion. 

Beside these elements of decay, and connected with them, was 
the terrible legacy left by the Republic in debased morals. The 
Roman character had its fine side, as we see in the qualities a 
Roman loved—gravitas and modestia, and in the ideals to which he 
aspired—honores and auctoritas, and while this is written for good 
all over the face of the Roman Empire and Roman institutions, 
there was another side. It may seem fanciful to go back to 
Hannibal for the beginning of Rome’s decline, but he began the 
decay of Italian agriculture, and from his day Italian yeomanry 
died away. Following immediately on the Hannibalic war came 
the conquests of Greece and Western Asia, and the simultaneous 
flooding of Rome with Greek philosophy and Asiatic wealth. The 
one taught the Roman to despise the rustic gods of his fathers, 
and the other their thrifty, farm-bred ideals. Sudden wealth joined 
forces with a flippant scepticism to sap the Roman character, just 
as a successful rebellion and an enormous and rapid accumulation 
of wealth in the hands of persons without traditions have given 
a modern people a bad repute for lawlessness and want of taste. 
Neither in the one case nor in the other are redeeming features 
wanting, as we have seen, but the Roman aristocracy and the 
middle class were almost entirely corrupted. The last century of 
the Republic is marked by reckless and tasteless selfishness of the 


Introduction 5 


most violent type and by its fruits in chaos, massacre and paralysis. 
Over all this rose the Empire, heir to a weakened manhood and 
lowered ideals. It stopped in some measure the rapid progress of 
the disease, but the germs of Rome’s decay it could not reach. It 
could not touch the essential scepticism of Roman society; it might 
try to revive a discredited religion and restore a forgotten ritual, 
but the profound unbelief underlying all the ideas of the upper 
classes was beyond its power to cure. Slavery was too deeply 
rooted in the social scheme to be meddled with, and indeed it 
seems to have occurred to no one to meddle with it. Marriage 
fell into disuse, as was natural when the sceptical and self- 
indulgent had the slave-system in their homes, And in spite of 
wars and proscriptions there was still the great wealth and still the 
- tradition of replenishing it more or less honestly by the spoliation 
of the provinces. ‘There was still the passion for the gladiatorial 
games and for the theatre—the schools of murder and of lust whose 
lessons were only too faithfully learned. 

The wars of the year 69 A.D. mark a stage in Roman history. 
It is as though the world now definitely accepted the fact of the 
Empire. ‘The restlessness that marks its first century is past. 
Then the sons of men, who, if not statesmen, had played great parts 
on the world’s stage, were settling sullenly down to splendid and 
caged insignificance in. Rome, eating, drinking, conspiring, raging 
and failing. Now, a quieter mood comes over the world. ‘There 
is less rage and less extravagance, and the fruits of a quiet move- 
ment of thought begin to appear. Scepticism is yielding place to 
Stoicism, the philosophy of endurance. It was followed by a 
genuine revival of religion, genuine in that men believed in their 
convictions of its truth, but after all a sentimental revival. 
Scepticism and despair had yielded to philosophy, but the human 
heart wanted more’. Still sceptical it turned to religion, and of 
this mood of faith and unfaith, of this wish to believe and this 
doubt of the possibility of belief, came the revival. It was not of 
the best or the strongest, but it did good. It had an air of 
asceticism about it, and decency revived and society grew purer. 
But it could not check the decline. . 


1 Cf. Strauss, der Romantiker auf dem Throne p. 20, “In such times of 
transition in the world’s history, men in whom feeling and imagination out- 
weigh clear thinking, souls of more warmth than clearness, will ever turn 
backward toward the old.” This is written of Julian, but it applies to the 
whole revival in question. 


6 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


At the end of the third century Diocletian orientalized the 
The Empire Ἐπηρίτο- το borrow an expression of Synesius’. I 
in the 4th cen- give the story in the words of a hostile critic, 
tury. Lactantius (if he wrote the De Mortibus Perse- 
cutorum). “This man ruined the world by his avarice and 
cowardice. For he set up three to share his kingdom [remark the 
word at last, regnum], and divided the world into four parts. This 
meant the multiplication of armies, since every one of them strove 
to have a far larger number of soldiers, than former princes had 
had, when they governed the state single-handed. So much greater 
did the number of those who received begin to be than of those 
who gave, that the strength of the farmers was exhausted by the 
enormity of taxation, the fields were deserted and cultivated lands 
returned to forest. And, that everything might be full of terror, 
the provinces also were cut into scraps, many rulers and more 
officials swooped down on the various regions and almost one might 
say on the several cities...[He enlarges on their number and greed. | 
..-He was also a man of insatiable avarice, and wished his reserves 
never to be lessened ; but he was always gathering in extraordinary 
sums of money and ‘presents, in order to keep what he was 
storing intact and inviolate......T'o this was added his boundless 
passion for building, no less a tax on the provinces in supplying 
workmen and artificers and waggons and every sort of thing neces- 
sary for building. Here basilicas, there a circus, here a mint, there 
an armoury, here a palace for his wife and there for his daughter...... 
Such was his constant madness, his passion to make Nicomedeia 
equal to the city of Rome” (de Mort. Pers. 7). 

This is the bad side of the story. There was, however, another. 
The division of the imperial power, it is fair to assume, was to 
secure the world against being left without a head, as it had so 
often been in the third century, when the murder of an Emperor 
again and again plunged society into anarchy and civil war. The 
removal of the capital from Rome was a necessary and wise step’. 


1 de Regno 10: τὴν περὶ τὸ βασιλικὸν σῶμα σκηνὴν καὶ θεραπείαν, ἣν ὥσπερ 
ἱερουργοῦντες ἡμῖν ἐν ἀπορρήτῳ ποιοῦνται καὶ τὸ βαρβαρικῶς ἐκτεθεῖσθαι τὰ καθ᾽ 
ὑμᾶς. Lactantius, M. P, 21, had already said Galerius deliberately copied 
the Persian court. See Seeck, Untergang der antiken Welt (opening pages), for 
a brilliant portrait of Diocletian, an Emperor with a Radical M.P.’s love of 
reforming everything with one fresh plan after another. In his reign of twenty 
years the Empire was more fundamentally changed than in all the preceding 
three centuries. 

2? Rome personified says in a poem of Claudian’s His annis qui lustra 
mihi bis dena recensent | nostra ter Augustos intra pomoeria vidi (vi, Cons. 


eee eee ee ee οι γυορυ 


Oe I ee Fe eae ee 


Os ae eee ae ee, 


ar a τω ΕΞ 


= a 


ee 


7; kd a _ ae 


Introduction y 


The populace of Rome were no longer masters of the world, and 
their opinions not now being needed, there was no reason, but 
that of sentiment, for the seat of government remaining in a town 
remote from all important points. Nicomedeia was convenient, for 
it allowed the Emperor to be so much nearer both Danube and 
Euphrates. Thirty years later Constantine further developed the 
new system, making the Emperor the splendid head of a hierarchy 
of officials and transferring the capital across the sea to Europe. 
The foundation of Constantinople i is no unimportant moment in the 
world’s history’. 

Constantine was succeeded by his three sons, of whom Con- 
stantius became sole ruler. He was followed by Julian, who reigned 
some two years; and when, on Jovian’s death (following speedily 
that of Julian), Valentinian became Emperor, he was bidden by his 
soldiers to name a colleague. He chose his brother Valens, and 
they divided the Empire. Valens became Emperor at Constanti- 
nople, and Valentinian in the West. Theodosius succeeded Valens, 
and in 395 left the world to his two sons, Arcadius, Emperor in the 
East, and Honorius in the West. From this point East and West 
begin to fall more conspicuously apart. 

I have said nothing so far of the Goths. For some generations 
German barbarians had been menacing the Empire. Sometimes 
they were driven off or killed; sometimes they were given lands 
in the Empire and admitted to service in the army; but still they 


pressed on and on. ‘I'he Goths’ first really great victory was at 


Adrianople in 378, where they killed Valens. It seemed then as 
though they would at once finally overflow the Eastern half of the 
Empire, but they were beaten back, and it was not for thirty 
uneasy years that they had their will of the Roman world, and 
then it was not Constantinople but Rome they captured (410). 
They had little mind to destroy what they found; rather they 
wished to share and to control. 

With bad finance, cruel taxation, civil wars, slavery and Gothic 
inroads the Roman Empire suffered terribly, but its most serious 
danger was the steady loss of population resulting from these 
causes, or at least speeded by them. ‘The army was sterile; for 


Hon. 392). These Emperors were Constantine, Constantius, Theodosius (twice). 
Diocletian may be added a little before (Lactantius, Μ. P. 17), but in any 
case this habitual absence of the Emperor is noteworthy. 

1 For one thing it gave the Bishop of Rome a much freer hand than 
he could otherwise have had, for now the only serious competing world- 
power was hundreds of miles away. 


8 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


till the reign of Severus soldiers were forbidden to marry during 
service’, and did not care to afterwards*. ‘The Christian apologists 
never fail to bring home to the heathen their exposure of their 
new-born children. At the same time the tendency to asceticism 
and celibacy which went with the general revival of religion did 
not help the world, the finer natures leaving no children, ‘The 
same unhappy result followed the persecutions of the Christians. 
The great plague, which lasted for twenty years in the latter half 
of the second century, also contributed to the depopulation, which 
had long ago begun to be marked, in Greece for example*. German 
immigration to some extent re-peopled the Empire, and greatly 
modified its character. ‘he army and the peasant class became 
predominatingly German; and when the great inroads of the fifth 
century came, the Empire in the West was half German already. 
In the East the Persians and in Africa mere barbarians, neither 
easy to assimilate, wrought havoc with the Roman world, plunder- 
ing, murdering and kidnapping. 

This then is the Roman world, a society splendidly organized ; 
training in laws and arms the Goths who were to overthrow it; 
giving its character and strength to the Catholic Church which 
was to check, to tame and to civilize these conquerors; and all 
the while gradually decaying, yet never quite losing all power of 
staying for a little its decline, as the wonderful history of Con- 
stantinople shews. We can see in some measure why the Empire 
fell, but how it was able to endure so long in the East is a harder 
question, which is not to be solved here. ‘There its story is some- 
what different, but there too it shaped a church and made nations, 
and held barbarism at bay for a thousand years after Rome had 
been taken by the Goths. Even the victorious Turks but adopted 
the traditions of government which they found. 

Virgil had seen aright the genius of his countrymen, when he 
apostrophized the Roman ; 

Thou, do thou control 
The nations far and wide: 
Be this thy genius—to impose 
The rule of peace on vanquished foes, 


Show pity to the humbled soul 
And crush the sons of pride. 


1 Dio lx. 24,-3. 

2 Neque conjugiis suscipiendis neque alendis liberis sueti orbas sine posteris domos 
relinquebant, Tac. Ann. xiv. 27. See also Boissier Roman Africa (tr.) p. 1208. 

3 See Seeck’s excellent chapter on ‘die Entvélkerung des Reiches” in his 
Untergang der antiken Welt. In the next essay (die Barbaren im Reich), p. 398, 


Introduction 9 


Under the Empire there was a general decline in nearly all 
the activities of the human mind, art, literature = 77, 4, 
and philosophy alike falling away. Not all the Zducation, and 
blame for this is to be laid upon Rome or her /*erature. 
government, for the impulse in all these things came from Greece 
and was already well-nigh exhausted with the general exhaustion 
of the Greek world. Faction, with its retaliatory massacres, 
had in Greece steadily eliminated eminence and capacity. In 
Rome much the same thing had befallen in the last century 
of the Republic and in the years of. usurping and suspicious 
Emperors. The level therefore of Greek and Roman genius steadily 
fell’. 

By the fourth century, says Gregorovius, “the creative art, 
like the poetry and learning of the ancients, was taking its leave 
of mankind; the date of its disappearance being manifested in the 
Triumphal Arch of Constantine, the border of two epochs. This 
arch the Roman Senate adorned with sculptures robbed from 
another arch dedicated to Trajan. As these were not sufficient, 
the artists of the time, to whom some of the reliefs were entrusted, 
were obliged to confess that the ideals of their forefathers had 
vanished and that the day of the barbarians had dawned. ‘The 
Triumphal Arch of Constantine may thus be described as the 
gravestone of the arts of Greece and Rome’*.” ‘The Christians 
borrowed the form of the court of justice, the Basilica, for their 
churches. St Peter’s, the foundation of Constantine, like many 
later churches, was built in some measure of relics and fragments 
of paganism. ‘The so-called chair of Peter, set in the church by 
Pope Damasus, is typical of much. It is an ancient sedan-chair 
decorated with minute carvings in ivory—heathen pictures of beasts 
and centaurs and the labours of Hercules, some fastened on upside 
down. Statues were still made and so were pictures, but the great 
arts of the day, as we learn from Claudian and Prudentius, were 
embroidery and mosaic, and where all else failed a lavish profusion 
of gold and jewels did instead of art. 


he alludes to the plague, which he estimates cost the Empire half its popula- 
tion, and goes on to shew the influence of German settlers on the Empire from 
the days of Marcus Aurelius, 

1 See Seeck, Gesch. des Untergangs der antiken Welt, pp. 280 ff. Seeck 
holds that in the fourth century thought and literature throve only where there 
was some Semitic element in the people—Syria, Egypt, Africa. Certainly one 
Semitic stock has not even yet declined if we may trust a Disraeli and a 
Heine. Seeck’s chapter Die Ausrottwng der Besten is well worth study. 

2 Rome in the Middle Ages, vol. i. p. 85 and following pages. 


10 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


In literature we find the same sterility. Latin literature had 
from the first been imitative, but imitation is one thing in strong 
hands and another in weak, and the surest road to decline is to 
copy the copy. Virgil and Horace had drawn their inspiration from 
Greek poets; Lucan and Statius from them ; and these last almost 
as much as the former were the models of later poetry. It was no 
better in the Greek world. East and west, education and litera- 
ture were infected with rhetoric, and the chief task of culture was 
to echo and distort in echoing the ideas of the past. Here and 
there a poet has something of his own to say, and then the old 
language has something of the old power. Claudian’s poetry is 
quickened by the thought of Rome, Prudentius’ by the victory of 
the Church and the unity of mankind in her, and both poets rise 
conspicuous above their age. In Greek the best is Quintus, the 
quiet amiable imitator and completer of Homer, the longest is 
Nonnus, whose poetry is like nothing so much as the playing of a 
prismatic fountain, the waters of which on analysis in a cold light 
prove to be dirty and full of infection. 

Serious prose, apart from the church and technical writers, was 
almost unknown. History was a dying art, but for Eusebius and 
Ammianus—a very large reservation it is true. Letter-writing on 
the other hand was never so flourishing or so sterile; as a few 
pages of Symmachus will shew. Yet Neo-Platonism, if it could not 
re-create, could revive literature, and the fourth century has much 
more to shew than the third—more books and books worthy of 
study for the light they throw on a great change taking place 
under the cover of old forms. It was an age of schools and uni- 
versities, but all of a conservative type. Education flourished, but 
it was rhetorical, Chassang remarks that there was no chair of 
history in any of the foundations, but a certain amount would be 
involved in the study of literature, which was a branch of grammar’. 
Philosophy still lived, but it was not satisfactory. It was concerned 
more with the tradition of dogmata than with the independent 
investigation of reality, and magic followed it like a shadow. 
There was some astronomy and a little other natural science, but 
these too were traditional. But all these studies were overshadowed 


1 Chassang, le Roman dans Vantiquité, p. 98. Among the Professores 
commemorated by Ausonius is a rhetorician, Staphylius (20), who besides 
being a consummate grammarian is described as historiam callens Livii et 
Herodoti.. Chassang is however right in his main contention that the subject 
was held of minor importance. There had always been a tendency in Rome to 
regard history from the point of view of style almost-exclusively. 


Introduction 1 


by the baleful rhetoric, infecting everything with pretentious un- 
reality, as every system of education will that teaches style first and 
_ forgets nature. 

One of the most striking facts about the education of the day 
is the undeniable charm it exercised over men, partly no doubt 
because in sterile ages men most prize correctness, but partly 
because it introduced them to masterpieces which they must have 
felt beyond them, however much they called one another Ciceros 
and Virgils. The Christians are as much captivated as the pagans, 
as we see in Augustine’s enthusiasm for the Aeneid and Jerome’s 
studies of Cicero and Plautus, and above all in the intense passion 
roused by Julian’s decree excluding Christians from the teaching 
profession, This enthusiasm was not always healthful, as it limited 
the range of interests with the most cramping effects. Macrobius 
for example devotes himself to Virgil (whom he does not really 
understand) and only touches his own day in Neo-Platonism. He 
knows something of Christianity, but his culture forbids his men- 
tioning it. When all is weighed, perhaps Ammianus, with all his 
naive ‘“‘readings of Antiquity” and “sayings of Tully” and his 
wonderful style, is as honest and wholesome a man as any who 
wrote in the century. And he had seen life and death as they are, 
before he began his studies. It is this contact with reality that 
lifts Augustine and, in his own way, Sulpicius into a spirit that 
speaks to the heart. 

Literature was one of the great strongholds of paganism and 
the other was philosophy. It was not the philosophy 
of the great days of Greece, and indeed it could not 
be expected to be. ‘The fall of Greek civic independ- 
ence, the breaking down of barriers of tribal, communal and 
religious tradition, and the levelling of mankind under the weight 
of the immense empires that followed Alexander’s conquest of 
Asia, affected philosophy profoundly. It is hardly saying too much 
to assert that the philosophers: “despaired of the republic” and 
turned to the individual instead. here were no doubt still 
Utopias, but kings and armies made them look even more foolish 
than demagogues and assemblies had done, and the main concern of 
thought was the sad adaptation of oneself to the new world without 
landmarks. The schools of Epicurus and the Porch, both appealing 
directly to the individual man, carried all before them. he Stoics 
had no disreputable following to give them a bad name arid they 
appealed more to the serious and manly with their doctrine of 


III. Philo- 
sophy. 


12 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


living according to nature. ‘Thus while Epicurus made disciples of 
honest Romans like Lucretius and Horace, Stoicism had more 
influence on Rome, particularly affecting the development of 
Roman law. ‘This is not very surprising when we consider what 
the Roman character was. 

As in the Greek world, so in the Roman, philosophy became a 
more important factor in life with the fall of the Republic and the 
rise of the Empire. There had been many Romans before this 
interested in philosophy, but now there was no alternative for 
serious people, except perhaps literature, and that also shews the 
influence of philosophic teaching. Stoicism had its popular 
preacher in Seneca, a more genuine exponent in Epictetus, and 
in Marcus Aurelius its last great example, and he indeed gives us 
a hint of the change that was coming. 

Mr Pater in his Marius seizes this singularly interesting 
moment of the world’s history, and exhibits to us this great Stoic 
Emperor with his assiduous sacrifices standing as it were between 
the two extremes represented by Lucian, the most distressing 
advocate of the blankest unbelief, and Apuleius the philosopher, 
the disciple of Plato and the magician, while in the background, 
as yet without prominence, is the new school gently bringing home 
to man that his soul is “naturally Christian.” The great African 
who coined this phrase was a younger contemporary of the other 
three. With Tertullian and with Apuleius lay the future. Lucian 
might shew his age the rottenness of all its beliefs and mock it 
for their vanity, and Sextus Empiricus might give a philosophic 
account of Pyrrho’s doctrine of scepticism, but the world swung 
violently away from them and beyond the cautious and melancholy 
Marcus. It would believe and it must believe, and a new spirit 
filled the third century. 

The New Pythagoreanism found its literary exponent in 
a sophist—Philostratus, and its patroness in an 
Empress of Syrian extraction. It led the way to 
the New Platonism, a form of thought that had more and longer 
influence. Plotinus is its great thinker, Porphyry and Iambli- 
chus brought it into common life; nearly all the pagan writers 
of the fourth century are touched by it, and still later Proclus 
taught it in Athens and Boethius found it his consolation in 
prison. 

It owed its popularity to the fact that while retaining for the 
simple-minded all the gods of all the creeds as legitimate objects 


Yeo-Platonism. 


of worship, supporting their service and defending them against 
attack, it allowed more cultured minds to transcend them! and 
soar unfettered by literalism into an ecstatic communion with the 
divine beyond all gods. It justified every heathen religion, for all 
things were emanations from the one divine, and the gods were 
intermediaries between it and man and deserved man’s worship by 
their larger measure of divinity or real being, and by their benevolent 
care for men, their weaker brethren or children. Every heathen 
god had thus his place in a splendid fabric, that reached from 
Absolute Being down to “the lowest dregs of the universe.” Man 
was not left alone in a godless world to face riddles he could 
not guess. ‘The world swarmed with gods as it did with demons, 
divine and beneficent powers contending against the demons 
of matter. The riddles were now beautiful mysteries man might 
see into, if he could overcome the divine reticence by a holy 
abstinence, an even more potent ritual and, more awful still, the 
strange powers of magic. By all of these man might learn how he 
could rise from one plane of being to another, ever growing more 
clear of matter, which was not-being, and ascending gradually into 
heights of purer and purer existence. It will be readily remarked 
what freedom this gave the wandering fancy—a pantheon wide as 
the world; a creed broad enough to include everybody, except 
Epicureans, for, if Christians would but permit it, Christ might be 
an emanation as well as Dionysus; a theory of the universe, 
superior to reason, far above proof, and remote from the grimy 
touch of experience. Everybody might believe anything and every- 
thing, and practise all rituals at once, and thus storm by a holy 
violence the secrets of all the gods. Naturally then we find very 
different types of Neo-Platonists, as they incline to this or that 
side of the general teaching of their school. 

Loose and fanciful thinkers like Julian, pagan antiquarians like 
Macrobius, conjurers like Maximus, pious and beautiful natures 
like Praetextatus and Hermes 'T'rismegistus (whoever he was), were 
all captured and held by this wonderful mixture of philosophy and 
religion. Stronger men too than they were attracted by it, and it 
left permanent traces of itself on Augustine’s theology. It was 
the greatest of all heathen systems, recognizing and satisfying 


1 St Augustine (de Vera Religione v. 8) makes the point that in the Church 
philosophy and religion are entirely at one, while pagan philosophy is really 
at issue with popular religion. It was at least the aim of the Neo-Platonists 
to avoid this. 


14 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


every impulse and energy of the human mind, except inquiry. It 
felt the unity of nature, the divinity of man as God’s kinsman, the 
beauty of a morality modelled after God, the appetite of the 
human heart for God, and something of man’s hunger for redemp- 
tion. It had an explanation for everything, but it was not con- 
cerned to verify its explanations. Happy in imagination, it had no 
interest in observation. It was in one way essentially claustral. 
The common people it left to worship their gods unintelligently. 
For them it had no communion with the divine, no salvation from 
sin, no consolation for sorrow. Celsus had long ago sneered at 
Christianity as a faith for fullers and bakers. Porphyry calmly 
warns off athletes, soldiers and business men—he is not writing for 
them. The Neo-Platonist thus has the Greek temper still, pre- 
ferring the life with advantages, and inculcating the old Greek 
ideal of self-rule, and progress toward a goal to be reached by 
contemplation. All things are divine in so far as they really exist, 
so the Neo-Platonist is not properly ascetic. But they are not 
always quite consistent, and some of them have an Oriental tinge 
about their views. Evil, they say, is not-being, but here a negative 
term covers a force felt to be positive, and they have not clearly 
explained their attitude toward matter. They say that it is 
failure-to-be, that it is nothing; but their “flight” from it and 
their general conduct with regard to it seem to imply that they feel 
sometimes it is something more. They make guesses at it, but 
they do not inquire. 

The general effect of Neo-Platonism was, I think, for good. 
Any belief is better than none, and a great faith, however con- 
fused, is apt to raise the moral tone. The literature of the fourth 
century has not the swing and surge of that of the first, but it is 
gentler and graver and purer. The general mind of man is not 
so robust, but it feels elements in the problem, which escaped it in 
its younger and more impetuous days. It cannot solve them, it 
can hardly state them, but in a confused way it recognizes them as 
affecting the general solution, and, where once it was dogmatic 
even to arrogance on the one side, now it instinctively takes the 
other, feeling it is nearer the truth but not realizing why. So 
though human nature was the same and people loved pleasures, 
they sought them after all with more restraint. In no previous 
century could a historian, without meaning to sneer, have coined 
the phrase imperialis verecundia. Most of these Emperors were 
Christian, but Julian morally the peer of the best was a Neo- 


Introduction 15 


Platonist, and Jovian, the one licentious Emperor, said he was a 
Christian’. 

Neo-Platonism with its acceptance of dogmata was essentially a 
religion of disciples. It will be remarked how it fits in with the 
literary tendencies of the century—philosophy and literature ex- 
plaining each other, both content with transmission, and happy in 
imitation, neither fertile in fresh discoveries or new ideas. They 
were alike exhausted. 

So far we have discussed the heathen world, picking up the 
main threads separately for clearness’ sake, and one 
has been omitted, which now calls for attention. 

The old Jewish prayer, “I thank thee, Ὁ God, 
who hast made me a Jew and not a Gentile, a man and not a 
woman, a free man and not a slave,” was repudiated by St Paul 
in an utterance which expresses a fundamental doctrine of Christi- 
anity—a doctrine to which the Roman Empire with its gradual 
levelling must have helped thoughtful men. Yet it should be 
noted that Paul proclaimed all human beings equal in the kingdom 
of God a century and a half before Caracalla made them equal in 
the world, and Paul included the slave whom Caracalla did not. 
The Stoic had already reached the dogma of the equality of all 
men, and Roman law was slowly working towards it. Thus the 
tendency of Greek philosophy and Roman imperialism co-operated 
with the new religion’. 

Again, the revival of paganism, of which I have spoken as a 
reaction against scepticism and despair, may or may not have been 
affected by the spreading of the Gospel. If not at first it was so at 
a later time. But here too there was common ground. Both the 
new paganism and the new gospel were helped by that pressure of 
circumstances, which drove men to seek in their own hearts for a 
stronger comfort to meet a more searching need than their fathers 
had known. This relation between the state of the Empire and 


IV. The 
Church. 


1 Seeck, it should be said, believes the improved tone of morals to be due 
largely to the intermixture of German blood and German ideals. Like 
Gregorovius, he has a high opinion of the German invaders, and they can 
both present a good case, though when one learns elsewhere that Virgil must 
_ be semi-Celtic and Tertullian semi-Semitic, one accepts racial panegyrics with 
reserve. The English seem to be the only race ‘“‘whom there are none to 
praise, And very few to love.” 

2? When Tertullian (Apol. 38) said wnam omnium rempublicam agnoscimus 
mundum, it was at once an expression of the unity of mankind and in some 
goer of revolt from the narrower conception involved in the Roman 

mpire. 


16 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


the Church should not be forgotten, for it will also help to explain 
the rapid spread of monachism. 

The Church was thus in contact with the whole life of the 
Empire, and though it was some time before she could much affect 
it, it helped to mould her. Her earliest organization was on secular 
models. She first held property under the law of burial associa- 
tions. Her bishops were developed out of the presidents of these, 
and her architecture was in some degree influenced for ever by 
memories of her catacombs. But more significant were other con- 
tacts. She soon caught the ear of the philosophical world, some 
members of which merely sneered, some borrowed from her and 
some joined her. She had to reckon with all three, and first by 
the necessity of apologetic against heathen and heretic, and thence 
by that of a clear presentation to herself of her vital doctrines, she 
became philosophic. Then by the interaction of thought and 
organization the office of the bishop gained a new importance, 
when he became the repository of true doctrine, the test by which 
doubtful views were to be tried. But the world was wide and there 
were many churches; the world was one, and the churches needed 
some common base and found it in a united episcopate which held 
truth in solidwm, as the converted lawyer said—as a corporation. 
Episcopatus unus est cujus a singulis in solidum pars tenetur’. 
These examples may serve for many that might be brought to shew 
how not only Greek philosophy, but Roman law, influenced the 
Church, shaping her theories of government and moulding her 
theology’. 

The State came first into collision with the Church by accident, 
and merely added a new form of crime to be suppressed to those it 
knew already. The Christian, according to the statesman, divided 
families and spoiled trades, and from both causes public disorder 
resulted. In the next place the Christian by asserting the supre- 
macy of a higher power than the Emperor’s introduced a disturbing 
element into society, and an imperiwm in imperio was not to be 
tolerated. So efforts were made to extinguish the Church —non 
licet esse vos. Persecution failed because the persecutors were 
less in earnest about it than the persecuted and had other interests. 
The last persecution inaugurated by Diocletian and his circle 
shewed by its failure the solidity of the Church, and it was the real 
instinct of a statesman that led Constantine to make peace with it. 


1 Cyprian, de Eccl. Cath. Unitate,c. 5. 
2 See Sir Henry Maine, Ancient Law, ch. ix. 


Introduction 17 


_ “By doing so,” says Seeley’, “he may be said to have purchased an 


indefeasible title by a charter. He gave certain liberties and he 
received in turn passive obedience. He gained a sanction for the 
Oriental theory of government; in return he accepted the law of 
the Church. He became irresponsible to his subjects on condition 
of becoming responsible to Christ.” 

The Nicene Council in 325 was a revolution. The bishops were 
here recognized by the State as constituting the Church, and as the 
Church they met to decide what was its faith. Constantine 
awaited their decision and then made his pronouncement. This 
was the Christian faith and no other; consequently all bishops 
must accept it. A number of new principles were involved here, 
and many consequences followed. First there was a series of fresh 
councils to re-try the question, which continued through the cen- 
tury. And it had to be settled by move and counter-move how 
far the Emperor was bound to accept the ruling of the Church 
which he had recognized. 

The battle of the councils was about a diphthong according to 
one account; it was a fight between Christianity and paganism 
according to another. If the Son was ὁμοούσιος, he was God while 
still man—that is, the antithesis of God and man is superficial, the 
ideal man being at the same time God’s best expression of himself ; 
but if the Son was ὁμοιούσιος, he was not God but a creature, a 
demigod perhaps or a Neo-Platonist emanation, and neither on the 
other hand was he man. It is no wonder that the conflict raged. 

There were other results of the peace between the State and 
the Church. It was no longer dangerous to be a Christian, but it 
was even profitable, and the stalwart Christians Diocletian had 
killed were replaced by time-servers and half-converted pagans. I 
do not say there was less Christian life at once, but at least the 
average Christian was of a lower type. This soon meant the 
general lowering of ideals, and was followed by the inevitable 
reaction, just as in former days the succession of easy times 
to difficult had meant first a lower tone in the Catholic 
Church, and then a Montanist and a Novatian revolt. Now 
the revolt took another form. Novatianism was conceived by an 
essentially Roman mind which worked from a new point of view 
to a new organization. ‘T'he new revolt was more Oriental in 


character. 


1 Lectures and Essays, iii. 


18 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


We have seen how Neo-Platonism had, like most serious forms 
of faith, a leaning to self-discipline which might fall into asceticism. 
Every eastern worship which the Roman world knew, except 
Judaism and Christianity, laid stress on asceticism. Celibacy had 
early invaded the Church, and Montanism had brought in asceticism. 
But monachism was a combination of both which was new to the 
Church in the fourth century, and its entrance coincides with the 
conversion of the monasteries of Serapis. It must not be lightly 
supposed that this was the source of the monastic movement in the 
Church, but rather it gave a new idea which fitted well with tend- 
encies long since at work. The Life of Antony is a Greek novel 
telling about a Coptic monk, a simple tale but on fire for those 
prepared for it. It offered in the desert a holy life, dependent on 
grace alone, victorious over all devils, Neo-Platonist or otherwise, 
free from all the cares and sorrows of a sinful world and unvexed by 
the worldliness of a sinful church. For though Antony is habit- 
ually respectful to clergy and bishops, other monks, 6.9. Sulpicius 
Severus, thought and spoke less well of them. The feelings that 
moved the unknown author of Antony and Sulpicius were shared 
by thousands. In a world of distress and despotism, in a church 
engaged in perennial debates about a question the simple-minded 
could not fathom, the ascetic ideal, preached by Neo-Platonist and 
Christian, triumphed and carried monachism with it. Neither was 
a part of primitive Christianity any more than the passion for relics 
and pilgrimages and the building of martyries, which invaded the 
Church from much the same quarters at the same time. 

In the essays that follow I shall try to shew how the threads 
here separated interlace in the lives and thoughts of men and 
women. In this man one influence overweighs the rest; in that, 
another, but none wholly escape them all, while in some men all 
the influences of their time seem to meet and require expression. 
In Augustine, for example, we have the rhetorician, the man of 
letters, the Neo-Platonist, the admirer of Antony, the Christian 
believer in grace, the Christian bishop, the Christian statesman and 
the thoroughly Roman constitutionalist of the Church. 

It is hard to form a completely unprejudiced judgment, but the 
conclusion is forced upon me when I survey the fourth century, its 
interests and its energies, that the Church had absorbed all that 
was then vital in the civilized world. It had not assimilated all of 
the beauty and wisdom of the great Classical period, for much of 


Introduction | 19 


was lost to that age and was not to be recovered for cen- 
~The Church of that day had her weaknesses, she made 
ve mistakes and she was not without sins that bore bitter fruit, 
she rose superior to all the world around her, and to whatever 
of work and thought we turn, literature, philosophy, ad- 
ation, we find her marked off from all her environment by 
characteristic it had not and she had—life and the promise of 


CHAPTER II 


AMMIANUS MARCELLINUS 


I have at last begun my historical labours....The materials for an 
amusing narrative are immense. I shall not be satisfied unless I produce 
something which shall for a few days supersede the last fashionable novel 
on the tables of young ladies. 

Macautay Letter to Macvey Napier 


A MAN must have fine qualities so to write the history of his 
own times that his judgments on his contemporaries shall be sus- 
tained on appeal to the court of History, and posterity, after fifteen 
centuries, accept them still. He must be cool and dispassionate in 
his survey, and yet sympathetic. He should be alive to every 
- aspect of the problems that beset his fellows, and take into account 
every advantage or disadvantage arising from age and environment. 
Commonly to attain the true perspective one must stand a century 


or at least a generation away. But in the fourth century, in the 


midst of the quarrels of Arian and Nicene, through all the turmoils 
of civil strife and barbarian war, lived and wrote a man, whose 
verdict on most of the men of his time is with some reservations 
substantially our own. 

Ammianus Marcellinus’ was born of Greek parents at Antioch’, 


1 The Abbé Gimazane, not finding “fifteen consecutive pages” on 
Ammianus, has written 400 in his 4. M. sa vie et son euvre (Toulouse 1889), 
a work of some interest with some rather improbable theories. Max Biidinger’s 
A. M. u. die Eigenart seines Geschichtswerkes is careful but too severe. The 
various historians of the period, and writers on Julian, generally refer to him 
more gratefully and, I think, more truly. 

2 We are curiously reminded of his birthplace when he speaks of Julian’s 
invective against the Antiochenes (the Misopogon), which he wrote “in a 
rage...adding a good deal to the truth.” Socrates, the fairest of Church 
historians as became a lawyer of Constantinople, lets the book pass with the 


— Le << Cl “ 


rs Del ν, a ee ες ny 


Ammianus: Marcellinus 21 


somewhere about the date of the Nicene Council, 3254.p. It is 
not possible, nor is it necessary, to name the exact year. More we 
cannot say than that he was of noble birth. Sooner or later he 
was as well read a man as any of his day, but we cannot say what 


his early education was. We first find him in the army among the 


Protectores Domestici, for admission to whose ranks personal beauty 
and noble birth were necessary’. He tells us himself incidentally 
that at one critical moment he found it not pure gain to be 
ingenuus’. 

We first find him in 353 at Nisibis, in Mesopotamia, on the 
staff of Ursicinus*, to which position the Emperor Constantius had 
appointed him. Ursicinus had been in the East for ten years*, we 
learn, without disaster, in spite of the rawness and inefficiency of 
his troops. Four years after we first see him, Ammianus includes 
himself among the adulescentes’ who were sent back to the East 
with Ursicinus, while the older men were promoted. Men vary so 
much in their ideas of what is young and what is old, that it would 
be hard to guess his exact age in 357. 

He saw a good deal of travel and warfare first and last. How 
long he was with Ursicinus during his first period of Eastern service 
we cannot say. However, in 353 whisperers round the Court 
suggested to the greedy ears of Constantius that it might be 
dangerous to leave Ursicinus in the East after the recall of Gallus 
Caesar, and he was summoned with all speed to Milan to “discuss 
urgent business.” All conveniences for rapid travel were supplied’, 
and with long stages they made all haste to Milan to find they 
had come for nothing. Perhaps they were not greatly surprised. 
It was Constantius’ method. Gallus had been hurried home in the 
same way to have his head cut off: 

The next thing was the trial of Ursicinus for treason. Con- 
stantius was jealous’, and the creatures of the Court whispered. 
His friends at once deserted him for men in the ascendant, “just 
as when the magistrates in due course succeed one another, the 


remark that “it left indelible stigmata on Antioch.” Sozomen says it was 
“excellent and very witty.” Zosimus, a heathen, says it was “‘most witty, 
and blended such bitterness with its irony as to make the Antiochenes 
infamous everywhere.” After twice reading the Misopogon, I must say my 
estimate is nearest that of Ammianus. 


1 Procopius, Hist. Arcana, 24. 2 xix: 8,11. 
ὃ xiv. 9, 1. 4 xviii. 6, 2. 
5 xvi. 10, 21. 6 xiv. 11, 5. 


7. Cf. Julian’s comment on him; Or. vii. 233 ¢ ἡ πρὸς τοὺς φίλους ἀπιστία 
ruined him. 


22 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


lictors pass to the new from the οἱ. Ammianus could hardly 
express his contempt more significantly. A plot was actually 
made to kidnap and kill Ursicinus untried. It seems the Emperor 
was cognizant of it; a defect in our text may be used to defend 
him, but he was quite capable of the treachery. Delay prevented 
its execution. 

In 355 they left Μηδ" under circumstances which seem 
strange perhaps, but are characteristic of the age. There was an 
officer in Gaul, Silvanus by name, loyal enough to the Emperor, but 
he had enemies, and they went to work in the usual way. They 
babbled to Constantius of treason till the wretched Silvanus found 
his only hope of life lay in treason—a desperate card to play, but 
his only one—and he boldly proclaimed himself Emperor. This 
was a thunderbolt indeed. But Constantius was not at a loss. He 
despatched Ursicinus (with Ammianus in his train) to quell the 
rebel, prepared to be glad to hear of the death of either of his 
generals, A mere handful of men went with Ursicinus, for craft or 
treachery was to be the tool employed. Ammianus felt, and they 
all felt, that they were in the position of gladiators condemned to 
fight beasts in the arena. They had to make haste to keep the 
rebellion from spreading to Italy, and so successful were they that 
Silvanus’ reign was one of only four weeks®*. They went, with a 
keen sense of their risk, to Silvanus as friends; they heard his 
complaints of unworthy men being promoted over his head and 
theirs; and after much discussion in private, and many nervous 
changes of plan, they managed to tamper with the troops. In a 
day or two at daybreak a body of armed men burst out, slew 
Silvanus’ guards, and cut down himself as he fled to a church for 
safety. Thus fell at Cologne “an officer of no mean merits, done 
to death by slanderous tongues, so immeshed in his absence that 
he could protect himself only by going to the extremest measures.” 
Such is Ammianus’ comment on a wretched affair which gave him 
nothing but disgust. Constantius, however, was so delighted as to 
feel himself “sky high and superior to all human risks now*.” 

Ursicinus and Ammianus remained in Gaul for a year perhaps’. 
In 356 they saw at Rheims the Caesar Julian, who had been sent to 
Gaul, as they had been themselves, to crush Constantius’ enemies, 


1 xv. 2, 3. 2 xy. 5. 

3 Julian, Or. ii. 98 σ γελοῖος ἀληθῶς τύραννος καὶ τραγικός. Julian says 
Constantius spared Silvanus’ son afterwards. 

4 xv. 5, 37. 5 xvi. 2, 8. 


Se χα νὰν δ ανε 


es οὐ νὰ σαι νιν 


Ammianus Marcellinus ὍΘΕ 


and if possible meet his death in doing it. Towards the end of the 
year came a welcome despatch summoning them to Sirmium’, 
whence the Emperor sent Ursicinus once more to the East and 
Ammianus with him. 

They were two years in the East, and meanwhile plots thickened. 
“The Court, hammering as they say the same anvil day and night 
at the bidding of the eunuchs, held Ursicinus before the gaze of 
the suspicious and timid Emperor as it were a Gorgon’s head?,” 
assuring him that his general ‘‘aspired higher.” Chief among the 
enemies was the rascal chamberlain, Eusebius, “with whom,” says 
Ammianus bitterly, “ Constantius had considerable influence”; and 
the “piping voice of the eunuch” and the “too open ears of the 
prince” meant ruin for the brave soldier. But a good deal was 
to come first. 

War with the Persians was imminent. A Roman subject of 
rank and some knowledge, harassed as Silvanus had been, though 
by smaller enemies, found life impossible within Roman frontiers, 
and fled to the Persians, and there he and his knowledge were 
welcome. A Persian invasion followed. Meanwhile the order had 
reached Ursicinus at Samosata to yield his command to one 
Sabinianus and come West*. ‘The Syrians heard with consterna- 
tion, and all but laid violent hands on him to keep him*. But 
Ursicinus and his staff had to go, and they crossed the Taurus, 
and after a short delay had travelled through Asia Minor, and were 
already in Europe when fresh orders turned them back whence 
they came. Sabinianus was recognized by the Emperor to stand in 
need of a soldier at his side. Back they went to Nisibis, and there 
they found their “little fellow gaping” (oscitante homunculo)’. 
Throughout the campaign this seems to have been Sabinianus’ 
attitude. He visited Edessa and spent time among the “tombs,” 
“as if, once he had made his peace with the dead, nothing were 
to be feared®.”” I suppose Ammianus means shrines and martyr- 
ies’. Abgar, king of Edessa, so a very old story goes, wrote to 
our Lord and had a letter from Him, both letters being preserved 
for us by Eusebius. In the Doctrine of Addai we have the whole 
story of our Lord’s sending Addai to Edessa, the healing of Abgar 


1 xvi. 10, 21. 2 xviii. 4, 2. 
8 xviii. 4, 7. 4 xviii. 6, 2. 
5 xviii. 6, 8. 6 xviii. 7, 7. 


7 It was believed by some that Julian, on his Anabasis, avoided the place 
for the very fact of its early Christian associations. (Sozomen, vi. 1.) It 
also happened to be out of his way. 


24 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


and the conversion of the whole place with such success and speed 
that they read the Diatessaron in the churches nearly a century 
before it was made. As our Lord’s reputed letter or a copy of it 
was shewn to St Silvia twenty years later than this, it is just 
possible this relic occupied Sabinianus’ attention. 

Leaving Sabinianus to his devotions, Ursicinus had to take 
what steps he might without hindrance. And now we are in the 
thick of the campaign. It was reported at Nisibis that the enemy 
had crossed the Tigris and that plundering bands were scouring the 
country’, “So,” says Ammianus (and I translate his account of an 
incident commonplace enough perhaps, but illustrative of the times 
and the region), ‘to secure the roads we set out at a trot, and at 
the second milestone from the city we saw a child of gentle appear- 
ance, wearing a necklace, and about eight years old we supposed, 
sitting crying on the middle of a bank. He was the son of a free 
man, he said, and his mother, as she fled in hot haste for fear of 
the enemy who was hard upon them, had found herself burdened 
with him in her panic and left him there alone. The general was 
moved to pity, and at his bidding I took him up in front of me on 
my horse and returned to the city, and meanwhile swarms of 
marauders were surrounding the walls far and wide. Alarmed at 
the idea of an ambush, I set the boy within a half-closed postern, 
and rode hard to rejoin our troop in some terror; and I was all 
but caught; for a hostile squad of horse in pursuit of a certain 
Abdigidus, a tribune, and his groom, caught the slave while the 
master escaped, and, as I galloped by, they had just heard in reply 
to their question, “‘ Who was the officer who had ridden out?” that 
Ursicinus had a little before reached the city, and was now making 
for Mount Izala. They slew their informant, gathered together in 
some numbers, and, without taking rein, made after us. 

“Thanks to the speed of my animal, I outrode them and at 
Amudis, a weak fort, I found my comrades carelessly lying about 
with their horses grazing. I flung out my arm, and waving the 
ends of my cloak on high (the usual signal) I let them know the 
enemy was at hand. Joining them 1 rode off with them, my horse — 
already in distress. What terrified us was the full moon and the 
dead level of the country, which offered no hiding place in case of 
pressing need, as no trees or bushes or anything but short grass was 
to be seen. We therefore devised this plan. A lighted torch was 


1 xviii. 6, 10—16. 


Ammianus Marcellinus 25 


set on a single horse and tied so as not to fall. The animal without 
a rider was sent off toward the left, while we made for the foot of 
the mountains on the right, so that the Persians, in the belief that 
it was the torch to light the general as he quietly rode along, might 
go in that direction. But for this device we should have been 
surrounded and captured and come into the enemy’s hands. 

“Escaped from this peril we came to a wooded spot planted 
with vines and apple trees, Meiacarire by name, so called from its 
cold springs. Its inhabitants had fled and we found but one man 
hid away in a corner—a soldier. He was brought to the general, 
and in his terror gave confused answers which made us suspect 
him. In fear of our threats, he sets forth the real state of affairs, 
and tells us he was born at Paris in Gaul and had served in the 
cavalry, but to escape punishment for some offence he had deserted 
to the Persians. On his character being established he had married 
and had a family, and had often been sent as a spy among us and 
brought back true information. He had now been sent by T'amsapor 
and Nohodar, the nobles at the head of the marauding forces, and 
was on his way back to tell what he had learnt. On hearing this 
and what he knew of what was going on elsewhere, we slew him.” 

I pass over a reconnoitring expedition made by Ammianus, and 
the disgraceful loss of an important bridge through the carelessness 
of a force of cavalry fresh from Illyricum, and the rout which 
followed, in which Ursicinus’ party got separated, Ammianus escap- 
ing to Amid’. The path up to the gate was narrow, and he spent 
a curious night jammed in a crowd of living and dead, with a 

soldier in front of him held erect by the press though his head was 

halved to the neck. Then followed the siege of Amid, the story of 
which told in his nineteenth book may rank for vividness and 
interest with the sieges of Quebec or Louisbourg. Remember that 
the story is told by a soldier, an eye-witness and the man of all 
men then living most fitted to tell such a tale. 

The Persian army moved on to Amid*, “and when next dawn 

1 xviii. 8, 11—14. 

2 Amid (now Diarbekr) on the Tigris was one of the most important places 
strategically and commercially in the country, though less so than Nisibis, 
which was the key of the situation. This should be borne in mind when we 
come to Jovian’s surrender. That Diarbekr is still the seat of the patriarch 
of the Jacobites shews its ancient importance (Stanley, Hastern Church, i.). 
Tt is now a town of 70,000 to 80,000 people, ‘Lurks, Kurds and Armenians, 
but not many Greeks, a great centre for trade, and capital of the vilayet of 
the same name (Diar, land; Bekr, Abu Bekr, the early caliph). It is sur- 


rounded by ancient walls which stand some seventy feet high, and make it 
the most remarkable place of the kind in Turkey. 


20 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


gleamed, all that could be seen glittered with starry arms, and iron 
cavalry filled plains and hills.” The phrase is curious, as many of 
his phrases are. The sunlight caught a thousand bright surfaces 
and the reflexions suggested the starry heavens. The iron cavalry 
are the cataphracts or men in armour mounted on horses in armour. 
We hear a good deal of them in Ammianus and Julian, who com- 
pares them to equestrian statues. “Riding his horse, and towering 
over all, the King himself (magnificently if tersely described as ipse 
without another word) rode down his lines, wearing as a diadem 
a golden ram’s head set with gems, exalted with every kind of 
dignity and the attendance of divers races.” He was intent on a 
siege, and, though the renegade advised against it, the “divinity of 
heaven” (caeleste numen) ruled that all his force should be concen- 
trated on this corner of the Roman world and the rest should escape. 

Sapor the king in a lordly way advanced to the walls, called 
for a surrender, and nearly lost his life for his pains, and retired 
raging as if sacrilege had been committed. Next day a subject 
king, Grumbates, came near losing his life on the same errand, his 
son falling at his side. Over the prince’s body there was a fight, 
which recalled the death of Patroclus. The Persians at last bore 
him off and for seven days he lay in state while they held his 
funeral, feasting and dancing and singing sad dirges in lamentation 
for the royal youth, much as women wail for Adonis. At last they 
burnt the corpse and gathered his bones to send home to his own 
people, and after a rest of two days war began again with a great 
display of Sapor’s troops, cataphracts, elephants and all’. Next 
day Grumbates, in the character of a /etialis, hurled a blood- 
stained spear at the city, and fighting began. Catapults, “scor- 
pions” (for hurling great stones) and engines of all kinds? came 
into play, and many were the deaths on both sides. The night 
fell and both armies kept watch under arms, while the hills rang as 
“our men extolled the prowess of Constantius Caesar as lord of the 
world and the universe, and the Persians hailed Sapor as saansaan 
(king of kings) and pirosen (conqueror in war)*.” 


1 This proceeding, strange as if may seem, occurs again at Daras, 530 A.p. 
On the second day fighting began and Belisarius won a great victory. 

3 Elsewhere (xxiii. 4) Ammianus gives a description of these various 
machines. 

3 Mr E. G. Browne informs me that this is a locus classicus with Orientalists, 
which some have tried very needlessly to emend. The passage is historical 
proof that the official language of the Sasanian kings was not pronounced 
as it is written, but for Aramaic words in the script their Persian equivalents 
were read. Saansaan is Shahin-Shah, pirosen Firuz. 


EE a 


tS a ee Ψ 


ΒΤ a ee τς ὙΠΈΡ 


Ϊ 
᾿ 
4 
᾿ 
¥ 


ἀν ee ee ee 


Ammianus Marcellinus 27 


Before dawn fighting began again. ‘So many evils stood 
around us, that it was not to win deliverance but with a passionate 
desire to die bravely we burned.” At last night put an end to the 
slaughter, but brought little help for the wounded. There were 
seven legions in the city and a great crowd of country people 
beside the citizens, and there was no room or leisure for the burial 
of the dead. : 

Meanwhile Ursicinus was chafing to go to the rescue, but 
Sabinianus “sticking to the tombs” would neither let him go nor 
go himself. It was believed Constantius was to blame for this in 
his anxiety “that, even though it ruined the provinces, this man of 
war should not be reported as the author of any memorable deed 
nor the partner in one either.” 

Now came pestilence from the bodies of the slain, and for ten 
days it raged till rain fell and stopped it. All the time the siege 
was pushed on, and the defenders’ difficulties were increased by the 
presence of two Celtic legions fresh from Gaul and itching to be 
“up and at them.” It took a good deal to hold them inside the 
walls at all. A deserter betrayed a secret passage leading to a 
tower, and, while engaged with foes without, the defenders suddenly 
found some seventy archers shooting at them from a post of 
vantage within the walls, and with difficulty dislodged them. A 
half day’s rest, and then “ with the dawn we see a countless throng, 
taken on the capture of the fort Ziata, being led away to the 
enemy's land, thousands of men going into captivity, many among 
them frail with age, and aged women; and if weary with their 
long march they failed, all love of life now gone, they were left 
hamstrung.” The sight was too much for the Celtic legions who 
raged like beasts of prey in their cages, and drew their swords on 
the gates which had been barred to keep them in’. They were 
afraid “lest the city should fall and they should be blotted out 
without a single brilliant exploit, or if it escaped it should be said 
that the Gauls did nothing worth while to shew their spirit. We 
were quite at a loss how to face them in their rage but at last 
decided (and got a reluctant consent to it from them)” that they 
should make a sortie on a dark night. The dark night came and 


1 Cf. Silius, Punica viii. 17, on Hannibal’s Gauls: 


vaniloquum Celtae genus ac mutabile mentis 
respectare domos: maerebant caede sine ulla— 
insolitum sibi—bella geri, siccasque cruore 
inter tela siti Mavortis hebescere dextras. 


28 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


with a prayer for heavenly protection the Gauls sallied out to the 
Persian camp, and but for some accident of a step heard or a 
dying man’s groan caught they would have killed Sapor; but Sapor 
had twenty years of mischief before him yet. 

Towers and elephants in turn were brought against the city, 
but the “scorpions” were too much for both; and the siege 
dragged on so that Sapor created a precedent and rushed into the 
fray in person. At last banks were raised, and the counter work 
put up by the besieged came crashing down as if there had been an 
earthquake; and the end had come. After a siege of seventy-three 
days the Persians had their way open, and now it was every man 
for himself, and all day long the streets were shambles. 

“So at eventide, lurking with two others in an out-of-the-way 
part of the city under the cover of night’s darkness, I escaped by 
a postern; and, thanks to an acquaintance with the country, now 
all dark, and the speed of my companions, I at last reached the 
tenth mile-stone. Here we halted and rested a little; and just as 
we were starting again, and I was giving out under the fatigue of 
walking, for as a noble I was unused to it, 1 saw a dreadful sight, 
but to me in my weary state it was to be a relief exceedingly 
timely.” It was a runaway horse trailing its groom behind it, and 
as the dead body checked its speed, it was quickly caught, and 
Ammianus mounted. After a journey through the desert they 
reached the Euphrates to see Roman cavalry in flight with Persians 
in hot pursuit. ‘All hope of escape lay in speed, and through 
thickets and woods we made for the higher hills, and so we came 
to Melitina, a town of lesser Armenia, and there we found the 
general and his staff setting out for Antioch.” 

After these adventures Ammianus probably went West again 
with Ursicinus, who, as magister peditum, was kept near Constantius 
till slander prevailed and drove him into private life, and we hear 
no more of him, though his faithful follower tells us that a son of 
his was slain at Adrianople in 378’. 

Ammianus had by no means seen his last of war in the East. 
In some capacity he went with his hero, the Emperor Julian, on 
the fatal expedition against Sapor in 363. From point to point 
we can follow their Anabasis in the twenty-third and twenty-fourth 
books, and ever and again we find the verb in the first person, 
vidimus, venimus. It is, however, needless to trace their march, as 


1 xxxi. 13, 18. 


a 


πα νυ a a 


_— —— ee) <_—s ΑΝ 


be 


ΙΝ ee ee ee oF 
vos 


i κι νὰ ὦ ΝΣ 


ee ee ee eee 


Ammianus Marcellinus 29 


_ Ammianus records practically nothing done by himself, though we 


may well believe he was not the least interested of the men who 
gazed on the wall paintings of battle and the chase at Coche’. 
Wherever he went we seem to see him with eyes open, quietly 
taking note of men and things. 

When Julian was brought wounded to his tent, is it hazarding 
too much to suppose that Ammianus was at his side, and heard 
the manly farewell he made to his officers? Ammianus, unlike 
other Latin historians we have read, does not make speeches for 
his characters to deliver. With very few exceptions, if any, the 
speeches he reports are formal, set harangues delivered by emperors 
at coronations—the sort of utterance which is read from paper 
and preserved after delivery; and though he may very properly 
have condensed Julian’s words, he is not the man to have invented 
them*. At all events he says nothing about Vicisti Galilaee, which 
is almost enough of itself to stamp that story a legend’. — 

Whether he had a share in the deliberations which led to 
Jovian’s election as emperor he does not say*. If he had he was 
certainly not proud of it, for he tacitly apologises for the choice 
made “when things were at the last gasp.” He shared the 
privations and the shame of the retreat, and a burning indignation 
betrays itself in the calm historian. Jovian accepted Sapor’s terms 
and surrendered five provinces, including the all-important city of 
Nisibis, “ when ten times over the thing to do was to fight®*.” The 
surrender was made “without any hesitation,” and we may picture 
the feelings of the old soldier, whose own two leaders had been men 
indeed, when he penned the words sine cunctatione tradidit’. It 
was indeed a pudenda pax*. He witnessed the rage and grief of 
the betrayed Nisibis, when Jovian to save his soul respected his 
oath so far as to forbid the inhabitants to stand up for themselves, 


1 xxiv. 6, 3. Coche was practically a suburb of Ctesiphon the Persian 
capital, lying across the Tigris. 

2 Gibbon believes the speech to be authentic, but wickedly suggests that 
Julian must have prepared it in case of an emergency. Vollert, K. Julian’s 
relig. u. phil. Ueberz. p. 94, says Réville and Ranke do not accept this speech. 

3. Theodoret (6. 430) tells the story. Socrates and Sozomen, historians of 
a higher type and about the same date, do not hint at it. Vollert (p. 95) 
accepts it as very like Julian. 

4 It has been conjectured that he was himself the honoratior aliquis miles 
who urged postponement. Gibbon (c. 24) and Hodgkin (i. 119). 


6 xxv. 7, 10. Cum pugnari decies expediret. Joshua the Stylite, c. 7, 
says Nisibis was surrendered for 120 years, but at the end of this period the 
Persians would not restore it—a local tradition perhaps. 

wEKV. ἢ, 11. 8 xxvii. 12, 1, 


80 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


as they were quite capable of doing, independently of Roman 
support’, and looked on, Roman Emperor as he was, while a Persian 
noble “hung out from the citadel the standard of his people.” 

He tells us of his return to Antioch, and then we are left to 
conjecture where he went and what he did. He was writing 
history, and personal details would have been biography; and he 
more than once protests that history cannot mention everybody’s 
name, nor record what everybody did. Minutiae ignobiles are 
outside its sphere. Where he has mentioned himself it has always 
been because he was an eye-witness2» At some time or other he 
visited Egypt, to which visit he twice alludes, once with a quiet 
vidimus*, once visa pleraque narrantes*. He also saw Sparta, and 
took note of the effects of an earthquake which had stranded a 
ship two miles inland’. 

Though he does not say so himself, we know at once from a 
‘letter Libanius® wrote him in 390 or 391, and from the vivid and 
satirical pictures he draws, that he lived in Rome, and wrote and 
read his history there. Seemingly he did not like Rome, and it 
has been suggested that Libanius’ letter was meant to encourage 
him. At any rate the great orator says that the honour Rome 
does the historian, and the delight she takes in his work, do- credit 
to Antioch and his fellow-citizens. 

In 371 he had the ill luck to be back in Antioch’ at the time 
when the affair of Theodorus was at its height. The story may be 
told quickly—he tells it us in full himself. Some men, speculating 
as to who was to be Emperor after Valens, tried a sort of plan- 
chette to find out, and learning that his name began with the four 
letters ®@EOA, they leapt to the conclusion that it was their friend 
Theodorus, a man of high rank*. Theodorus heard it, and perhaps 
‘was half inclined to accept a manifest destiny—guo fata trahunt 
retrahuntque sequamur—but the day planchette was tried was an 
evil day for him and for all concerned, and many more beside who 
were innocent. Attempts had been made on Valens’ life before, 
and this time at least he left nothing undone to discourage them 


1 They were quite equal to this as Sapor could testify, for they beat him 
off in 340, though he had got so far as to make a breach in their wall. 

2 Gimazane (p. 54) is quite right in saying, ‘‘C’est un des rares écrivains qui 
savent parler du moi sans le rendre haissable.” 


3 xvii. 4, 6. 4 xxii. 15, 1. 
5 xxvi. 10, 19. A ship suffered this at Galveston, Texas, i in Sept. 1900. 
6 Ep. 983. + SER 


8 The man of fate was Theodosius, not Theodorus; so after all the prophecy 
came true. He was co-opted as Emperor by Gratian in 378. 


i i See 


Ammianus Marcellinus 31 


for the future. A reign of terror followed. ‘We all at that time 
crept about as it were in Cimmerian darkness, as frightened as the 
guests of Dionysius who saw the swords hanging each by a horse 
hair over their heads?.” There was probably no man with so little 
taste for rebellion in the empire. Writing of treason trials under 
Constantius he says’: “No sensible person condemns a vigorous 
inquiry into these matters; for we do not deny that the safety 
of a legitimate Emperor, the champion and defender of good 
citizens, to which others are indebted for their safety, ought to be 
protected by the associated enthusiasm of all men. ΤῸ uphold this 
the more strongly the Cornelian laws allow in treason cases no 
exemption of rank from torture even if it cost blood.” This is 
loyal enough, ‘but unbridled exultation in suffering is not 
befitting.” He knew, and few better, what it meant to the empire 
to have no Emperor. ‘That lesson was learnt in the desert and at 
Nisibis; and when after some months of tarnished glory Jovian 
died, the Roman soldiers were right when they forced Valentinian 
on his election at once to name a colleague. 

While Ammianus lived in Rome he wrote his great history®. It 
consisted of thirty-one books, of which the first thirteen are lost. 
His work began with the reign of Nerva, 96 a.p., where Tacitus 
stopped; but in book xiv. we are in the year 353, and book xxxi. 
ends with the death of Valens at Adrianople in 378. It has been 
suggested* that there was not room in thirteen books on this scale 
for 250 years, and that perhaps, like Tacitus, he wrote two 
historical works, and that the history, eighteen books of which 
we still have, was that of his own times, while another is lost. 
This is a large supposition, and, I think, not very necessary’. At 
the beginning of book xv. he announces that what follows will be 
done limatius, which may refer as much to the matter as to the 
style, and would then imply greater detail. As I believe there 
is no external evidence of any kind, every one may freely form his 


1 exis, 4. 

2 xix. 12, 17. 

8 An English version was brought out by Philemon Holland, of the Citie 
of Coventrie, in 1609, in a flowing, if free, style. Pope sets Holland’s trans- 
lations (many and mainly historical) in ‘the library of Dulness,” but Abp 
Trench thinks very highly of them, and his is probably the more serious 
judgment. 

4 By Hugo Michael, Biidinger, p. 4, rejects the theory. 

7 5 Zosimus, in his history of Rome’s decline and fall, devotes’one book, 
his first, to the first three hundred years of the empire, and gradually gives 
more space to events as he approaches his subject proper. 


32 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


own opinion from that passage, and the little epilogue at the end 
of book xxxi.’ ‘ 

We do not know anything of his death. If his reference in 
book xxix to a young officer, Theodosius, princeps postea perspec- 
tissimus, implies that Theodosius’ reign and life are done (as it 
may), then Ammianus died in 395 or later. The latest date to 
which an event he mentions can be assigned is Aurelius Victor’s 
Praefecture of the City in 391. In speaking of the Serapeum he 
says nothing of its destruction in 391 by a mob, but he deals with 
the Serapeum in book xxii., and we have nine books on later 
history, so this gives us no further help. However it is quite 
unimportant when he died. He lived long enough to leave man- 
kind a legacy, for which we cannot be too grateful. 

As all we know of him is gathered from his history, we may 
consider his work and himself together. Let us begin with his 
epilogue, as good an account of him as there is:—“ All this from 
the principate of Nerva Caesar to the death of Valens, I, a soldier 
in my day and a Greek, have set forth according to the measure of 
my powers. ‘T'ruth being the boast of my work, never, I think, when 
] knew it, have I dared to corrupt it by silence or falsehood. What 
follows, let better men write, in the flower of life and learning ; and 
when, if they so choose, they undertake it, I bid them sharpen their 
tongues for a higher style.” Elsewhere too he promises truth to 
his readers—siqui erunt unquam, as he modestly says. 

He was a man of very wide reading, as his constant references 
to literature shew. ‘They are so many in fact that it has been 
surmised he did his learning late in life. He is evidently proud 
of it, and the value he put upon it may be read in his apology 
for Valens, who had “a countrified intelligence, unpolished by any 
readings of antiquity®.” Valens again shewed “a very unbridled 
exultation in various tortures (of supposed criminals), being 
unaware of that saying of Tully's, which teaches that they are 
unbappy men who think everything permitted them*®.” It is quite 
surprising how many Imperial and other crimes are sins of ignorance. 
Sometimes it is that the Emperor forgot or had not read his 
Aristotle, but we hear most of Tully. He is rarely at a loss for a 
historical parallel in the annals of Rome or Greece. 

When he sums up the character of a good Emperor, he first of 


1 It is also believed by some that one book is missing before book xxxi. 
2 xxx. 4, 2 Subagreste ingenium nullis vetustatis lectionibus expolitum. 
3 xxvi. 10, 12 Sententiae illius Tullianae ignarus. 


Ammianus Marcellinus 33 


all tells us his faults—and quite freely too—and then sets forth his 
good points that they may leave the stronger impression, while 
with a bad Emperor he reverses the process. Let us follow his 
example and pay him the compliment implied by first giving an 
account of his foibles. 

Critics almost without exception abuse his style, some even 
finding fault with him for trying to write in Latin at all’, and 
certainly his style is curious and peculiar to him. It reminds one 
somehow of Apuleius, though it is less successful*. His vocabulary 
is good in itself, but his composition and grouping have a very odd 
effect. Partly it may be, as is suggested, the disturbing influence 
of Greek. Partly it is because he aims a little too much at rhe- 
toric. ‘The manner is more suited to the novel than to the history. 
In fact his style is rather more modern’ than classical, so modern 
as to be nearly journalistic at times. It abounds in metaphor— 


“The trumpets of internal disaster were sounding*”’; “ the horrify- 
ing gang of furies lighted on the necks of all Asia®”; “he left the 


provinces waltzing®”; ‘the destiny of the East blared on the dread 
shawms of peril, mingling her plans with the shades of Tartarus’.” 
He does not, in describing the situation of a town, care to say 
North, South, East and West simply, but “facing the arctoan 
stars,’ “whence the dawning sunbeam rises’.” (Of course these 


phrases are more unnatural when translated.) Once or twice he 


1 Tt is remarkable in view of the fact that the Greeks had always been 
studiously ignorant of Latin (e.g. Plutarch), and that a century later than 
this we find but few in the East who knew it at all, that the two great men 
of letters of this age, Ammianus and Claudian, a Greek-speaking Egyptian, 
should write in Latin. The Emperor Julian seems guiltless of the most rudi- 
mentary acquaintance with Latin literature. Latin was still, however, the 
official language. Libanius (Sievers, p. 13) needed an interpreter to read a 

tin letter, and was indignant at young Antiochenes going to Italy to learn 
Latin (ib. p. 162). Trench (Plutarch, p. 10) cites one quotation of Horace in 
Plutarch against Gibbon’s assertion that there is no allusion to Virgil or 
Horace in Greek literature from Dionysius of Halicarnassus to Libanius. Is 
the statement or the exception more striking? 

2 E. W. Watson, Studia Biblica, iii. 241, compares Ammianus’ style with 
Cyprian’s, finding them “closely akin in their literary aspect.” 

3 E£.g. in the purely picturesque use of the adjective. xiv. ὃ, 4 Aboraeque 
amnis herbidas ripas, balancing solitudines. 

4 xxix, 1, 14 internarum cladium litui sonabant. 

5 xxix. 2, 21 coetus furiarum horrificus...cervicibus Asiae totius insedit. 
This rather curious phraseology is not unlike Apuleius, e.g. Metam. v. 12 
séd jam pestes illae taeterrimae furiae anhelantes vipereum virus et festinantes 
impia celeritate navigabant—the description of Psyche’s two sisters. 

§ xxviii. 3, 9 tripudiantes relinquens provincias. Others use this verb in the 
same way. 

7 xvili. 4, 1 Orientis fortuna periculorum terribiles tubas inflabat...consilia 
tartareis manibus miscens. 

8 xxvii. 4, 6 arctois obnoxiam stellis. 7 unde eoum jubar exsurgit. 


@. | 3 


84 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


breaks out in a declamatory apostrophe, which comes oddly enough 
in a history. In fact we may borrow a phrase of his own, used of 
Phrynichus, to illustrate and describe his own style—cum cothur- 
natius stilus procederet’. Cothwrnus is strictly the buskin worn by 
the tragic actor to give dignity to his stature, and is commonly 
enough used in Latin as equivalent to Tragedy itself, just as soceus 
represents Comedy. Cothurnatus is “wearing the buskin” and 
may be employed of a man in a “tragic” humour. ΤῸ turn this 
into an adverb, and use it to describe the march of a style, is a 
somewhat unusual manner of writing, but characteristic of Am- 
mianus. It also hits him off admirably, for there is very often “a 
hint of the buskin in the strut of his style.” At the same time a 
good deal too much may be made of this, and has been made, for, as 
I hope the extract above translated will shew, he can write straight- 
forwardly and simply when he pleases*. When his diction and his 
rather obtrusive learning are forgiven, I think we have exhausted 
the list of his sins, which must be admitted not to be very great. 
When we come to his virtues, we find that his severe truth- 
fulness and his dispassionate impartiality might set him in the 
_very front rank of historians. But a man may be fair and truthful 
without having the other necessary qualities of a historian, and 
these Ammianus has in a strongly marked degree. He realizes the 
perspective of the picture he sees, and he selects and groups his 
matter with the eye of a master. A modern author has this advan- 
tage over an ancient, that he can by grace of the printing press 
pack his digressions into footnotes and appendices, while so long 
as manuscripts held the field, everything had to go into the text. 
But for this the light reader would have a higher opinion of 
Ammianus. Setting apart his geographical excursuses which really 
recall Herodotus*, and those on scientific subjects such as earth- 


1 xxviii. 1, 4. So Mr Bury describes the style of Cassiodorus, ‘each epistle 
posing as it were in tragic cothurni and trailing a sweeping train.” Later 
Roman Empire, ii. p. 187. 

* One must be careful of speaking of oneself after the Abbé’s dictum, but I 
may be allowed to say I once read Ammianus steadily and almost exclusively 
for a fortnight and found him fascinating. Quot homines, of course. 

% Sievers, Libanius, p. 17, τι. 2, says Geography was a Lieblingswissenschaft 
of the day. Claudian stops the course of an epic to tell about Sicily and 
its voleanoes in 36 lines (R. P.i. 142—178). While Peter (die gesch. Litteratur 
iiber die R. Kaiserzeit bis Theod. I. τι. ihre Quellen) chatacterizes these excursions 
of Ammianus as Dilettantismus, Gimazane on the other hand (p. 207) says 
that after the French conquest of Algeria a French officer, Nau de Champlouis, 
took Ammianus’ story of Theodosius’ campaign in Africa, went over the ground 


and found the historian exact. I have referred to de Broglie, whom the Abbé — 


cites, but he is not quite so explicit. 


ee ὙΨΨΟΝΝ 


Ammianus Marcellinus 35 


quakes, the rainbow, comets, and so forth, which are generally 
borrowed, and naturally fall short of modern accuracy'—all of 
which would to-day be relegated from the main body of the work— 
we may say that he knows the use of light and shade, and shifts 
his scene so skilfully that the various parts of his work set off and 
relieve one another. No part of the Roman world is left out, and 
he gives us a vivid panorama of that world, borrowing no doubt at 
times from earlier writers. Huns, Goths, Egyptians and Persians 
are all surveyed, and though we may be surprised at an omission 
or a slip here and there, such as his neglect to notice the change 
from the Arsacid to the Sassanid dynasty in Persia*, which from 
other sources we find meant much to Rome and her Eastern 
provinces, we really learn a great deal. 

Then he has a keen eye for colour, and in a touch, a hint, 
an incidental phrase, lets us have glimpses that make the life 
of his time real and living to us to-day*, We are seeing his 
world for ourselves, almost with our own eyes. For instance, 
we learn thus that the Germans dyed their hair. Jovinus* 
“hidden in a valley dark through the thickness of the trees” 
surprises them, “some washing, some of them staining their hair 
red after their custom, and drinking some of them.” In the 
same way we mingle with the Roman soldiers (too many of them 
barbarians), and see the way they do things. They are anxious to 
fight, and they let their commander know it by banging their spears 
on their shields’, ΤῸ wish him good luck they make a din with 
the shields on their knees’. Here is a man who cuts off his thumb 

1 Gibbon, who had a high opinion of him, magnificently rebukes him on 


one occasion. ‘‘Ammianus, in a long, because unseasonable, digression, rashly 
supposes that he understands an astronomical question, of which his readers 


are ignorant.” Nemesis overtakes him at once, for Dr Smith has remarked 
_ an error of a preposition in Gibbon’s account of Ammianus’ mistake, 


2 The Arsacids yielded place to Artaxerxes in 226 a.p., and the new dynasty 
which was supposed to derive from the Achaemenids (the family of Cyrus and 
Darius) lasted till 651 4.p. They restored the religion of Zoroaster and the 


- authority of the Magi, persecuting Christians and Manichaeans alike. The long 


wearisome wars between them and the Romans (to be read of in the vivid if 
very unadorned history of Joshua the Stylite) left both an easy prey to Islam. 
We hear now and then of the Saracens already in Ammianus. 

3. Biidinger (per quem non licet esse negligentem), pp. 27—30, is very severe 
on some of Ammianus’ picturesque touches—especially the scene where the 
Persians are crossing the bridge (xviii. 7, 1), asking, could he see so far and did 
Sapor really sacrifice at all? A little lower (p. 31) he laments that Ammianus 

id not know ‘‘Eusebios Pamphilos’ Sohn.” Ramsay, Impressions of Turkey, 
p. 193, mentions one or two odd little slips of Mr Hogarth into inaccuracy 


about small matters—a bolt on a door and a woman’s petticoat—and asks 
_ what would be said of such blunders in St Luke. 


4 xxvii, 2, 2. 5 xvi. 12, 13. 6 xy. 8, 15. 
3—2 


36 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


to shirk service’. Julian makes a speech, and in delight the troops 
stand waving their shields in the air’, or in anger they brandish 
their spears at him*. In the troops of Constantius‘ are soldiers who 
lie on feather-beds and have a pretty taste in gems. Alas! for 
Julian’s heathen revival! his soldiers had too many sacrificial 
feasts, too much to eat and too much to drink, and rode home 
through the streets of Antioch to their quarters, mounted on the 
necks of passers-by®. Now they all but mutiny because Julian has 
only a donative for them of a hundred pieces of silver a man’®. 
Again we find them marching into battle, while they raise the 
barritus’, “‘so called in their native tongue, a martial note that 
began low and swelled louder.” Mr Keary* very reasonably finds 
the origin of this in the German forests, where the wind sweeping 
over and through leagues of trees roared like the sea, and hence 
through barbarian recruits, of whom we hear a good deal, it came 
into the Roman army. 

All these are small points, perhaps, but they add variety to the 
work; and though a history may be great without them, or dull 
with them, they are in their right place in Ammianus, and brighten 
his canvas without lessening the effect of the great outlines of his 
picture. 

Ammianus was a soldier, but he saw that the army was not 
the State, and ever and again we find him intent on the provinces 
and the troubles of the tax-payer. He recognizes the merit of 
Constantius, whom he did not like, in keeping the army in its 
proper place’, “never exalting the horns of the military”; and he 
tells us with a proud satisfaction in his hero that Julian reduced 
the land tax in Gaul from twenty-five to seven awrei per caput’, 
and in his financial arrangements would not countenance one 
particular practice because it was merely a relief to the rich without 
helping the poor at all. It is not the picture of Julian we are 
generally shewn, and we must bear in mind that the man, whom the 
ecclesiastics abuse for “pillaging” them, was careful for finance and 
had the interests of the empire at heart. A burning question of 
the time was the shirking of “curial” duties by men who tried to 


1 xv. 12, 3. 2 xxiii. 5, 24, 
3 xxi. 13, 16. + xxii. 4, 6. 
5 xxii. 12, 6. 6 xxiv. 3, 3. 


7 xxxi. 7,11. Cf. Tac. Germ. 3. 

8 Vikings and Western Christendom, p. 43. 

® xxi. 16, 1. 

10 xvi. 5,14. Cf. Marquardt, Rim. Staatsverwaltung', ii. p. 222. 


ey ee ee πος ὙΝ  πυὰ  ,.ῃ 


Ammianus Marcellinus 37 


evade paying their share of the heavy taxes exacted from the curia 
of each town as a body. It is clear that every evasion made the 
burden heavier for the rest of the body, but Julian is severely 
criticized by Ammianus for being too sharp with men whom the 
curiae accused of such dereliction’. ‘The system was vicious, and 
in fact was one of the main elements in the decay of the empire’. 

Another such element was officialdom. He tells us how when 
Julian was quartered at last in the palace of Constantinople, and 
sent for a barber, there entered a gorgeous official, who proved to be 
the court barber, and, as such, had a splendid income*. This roused 
Julian, who at once made a sweeping clearance of barbers and cooks 
and eunuchs, and till Valens became Emperor their régime was at 
an end. Other official nuisances were less easy to get rid of, and 
again and again we find Ammianus telling of tumult and war and 
disaster brought on by the cruelty and insolence of civil and mili- 
tary authorities. Valentinian, he complains, did nothing to check 
the irregularities of his officers, while he was very severe on the 
private soldiers. Finally, the terrible Gothic war, which culminated 
in the defeat and death of Valens at Adrianople, was occasioned, if 
not caused, by the rapacity and cruelty of a magistrate charged 
with the transport of the Goths over the Danube. 

Here it may be remarked that while Ammianus has no political 
or economical views to set forth, and accepts the fact of the empire 
as part of the world’s fabric, as everybody else then did, without 
criticism, he does permit himself to criticize and complain of the 
administration. Though he laments that his contemporaries have 
not the recuperative power which ‘‘sober antiquity, unstained by 
the effeminacy of an ungirt life,” possessed in its unanimity and 


1 Rode, p. 58, refers this criticism to Julian’s edict (Hp. 14) putting back 
Christian clergy into the curiae from which they had been released on ordi- 
nation. Amm. Mare. xxv. 4, 21; and xxi. 12, 23. 

2 Priscus in his account of his interesting journey among the Huns in 
448 a.p. (p. 59 B in the Bonn Corpus of Byzantine History, a translation of 
which is to be found in Mr Bury’s Later Roman Empire, i. 213—223) tells 
us of a renegade Greek he met who had turned Hun and pled that he was 
better off; ‘‘for the condition of the subjects [of the empire] in time of peace 
is far more grievous than the evils of war, for the exaction of the taxes is 
very severe, and unprincipled men inflict injuries on others because the laws 
are practically not valid against all classes,” and so forth. Priscus upheld the 
empire, and ‘‘my interlocutor shed tears and confessed that the laws and 
constitution of the Romans were fair, but deplored that the governors, not . 
possessing the spirit of former generations, were ruining the State.” It might 
be difficult to identify those ‘‘ former generations,” but the whole story is very 
significant. 

8 xxii. 4, 9. 


38 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


patriotism’, he has no regrets for the republic, no sorrow for the 
Senate of Rome in its glorious effacement, none of the narrow 


Roman feeling of the city-state days. Three hundred years had © 


brought a good many changes, and all the world was Roman now 
together, apart from Germans, Goths, and Persians beyond the pale. 
The Greek of Antioch is as much a Roman as any one. The result 
is a striking difference of tone in the historian—a change for the 
better. We are rid of the jingoism of Livy, and the gloom of 
Tacitus’. Ammianus himself is tenderer and has larger sympathies 
than the historians of old. He can value human life even if it is 
not a Roman life, and pity the child though a Syrian who begins 
his experience by being taken captive” The Roman in Ammianus 
poses no more. He is far more frankly human. As a result we 
feel more with him. In fighting German* and Persian he is battling 
for light and civilization, and Christianity itself; and if in the last 
great fight in book xxxi. we incline to the Gothic side in some 
degree, it is the fault of a criminal official, and not because our 
historian alienates our sympathy by a narrow and offensive little 
patriotism. Things are more fairly and squarely judged on their 
merits now when the cramping caste distinction of civitas is gone. 
Even the line between Roman and barbarian was_growing faint, 
when the Frank Nevitta was made consul by Julian, bitter as he 
was against Constantine for his barbarian consuls. 

But I have said nothing so far of one great change that had 
come over the world in the triumph of the Church. We hear of it 
of course from Ammianus, but less than we might have expected. 
This is easily accounted for. One of our chief interests in the 
fourth century is the Arian controversy, and Ammianus was a 
heathen. A heathen of the latter-day type, that is, a rather 
confused, because so very open-minded a heathen. We hear little 
about the gods and a great deal about the vaguely-named caeleste 
numen, which shews its interest in mankind again and again. 

In particular he digresses on the occasion of the downfall of 
Gallus, which he considered a well-deserved catastrophe, to give us 
his view of Nemesis or divine justice. The passage is characteristic 
in several ways. “Such things and many more like them are 


1 xxxi, 5. 14. : 

2 Mr Bury (L. R. E., ii. 179) characterizes Tacitus very justly as “out 
of touch with his own age.” 

3 Biidinger (p. 21) discovers an ‘unusual bitterness against Germans” in 
Ammianus though he notices it less in the later books. If this is true it can 
hardly be surprising (compare Synesius), but it had not occurred to me. 


a ee ee eS νμ ὐὐωλ ὅἱ 


Ammianus Marcellinus 39 


often wrought (and would they were always!) by the avenger of 
evil acts and the rewarder of good, Adrastia, whom we also call by 
a second name Nemesis, a certain sublime Justice with divine 
power, set, if human minds may judge, above the orbit of the 
moon, or, as others hold, a guardian being, with universal sway 
over our several destinies, whom the theologians of old in their 
myth call the daughter of Justice, saying that from an unknown 
eternity she looks down on all earthly things. She, as queen of 
causes, arbiter and disposer of events, holds the urn of fate, varying 
the lot that befals us; and by bringing what our free wills begin 
at times to a very different end from that intended, she utterly 
changes and involves the manifold actions of men. With the 
indissoluble clamp of necessity she fetters the empty pride of 
mortality, and disposing as she will of the hours of growth and 
decline, now she brings down the neck of pride and cuts its sinews, 
now she lifts the good from the depths into prosperity. Antiquity, 
in its love of myth, gave her wings, that men might realize with 
what flying speed she is everywhere present; it gave her to hold 
the helm and set the wheel beneath her, that men might know she 
courses through all the elements and rules the universe” (xiv. 11, 
25—26). 

Here, while aiming at expressing his view in the style he loves, 
he gives us the conclusion of a man of affairs. _Men propose this 
and that; powers above them ‘“‘shape their ends,” and the world 
presents a great appearance of confusion. Yet his experience and 
observation lead him to believe that in general it is possible to 
recognize some higher power (to-day we might say law or principle) 
which is acting towards justice. We do not always see justice 
entirely triumphant, but we often do, so often as to be justified in 
believing that above the play of “changeful and inconstant fortune ” 
is a divine justice, however we may define it. He is not a philo- 
sopher, but he leans on the whole to Neo-Platonic theology, ‘from 
which he derived “the orbit ofthe moon,” the lowest of the seven 
heavenly planes. 

Auguries and auspices are still to the fore, not that the mere 
birds can tell the future, but a kindly nwmen’ guides their flight 
to allow us by it to see what is coming. Omens are very real 


1 xxi, 1,9. Amat enim benignitas numinis, seu quod merentur homines, seu 
quod tangitur eorum adfectione, his quoque artibus prodere quae inpendunt. 
Surely there is something pathetic in this, if only in the quoque. This too 
is Neo-Platonic; see footnote 2 on p. 187. 


40 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


things—an idea mankind still cherishes in a confused and half 
ashamed way. Prodigies still occur, but “nobody heeds them 
now.” Ammianus has great respect for the philosophers and the 
theologi of old, though he draws a curious picture of Julian’s camp 
with its Etruscan soothsayers and Greek philosophers’. Some sort 
of portent occurred on Julian’s march into Persia, and the sooth- 
sayers declared that it meant disaster if the advance were con- 
tinued. But they were slighted by the philosophers, “who had 
much respect just then, though they do make mistakes sometimes, 
and are stubborn enough in things they know nothing about.” 
This time the event justified the soothsayers, we know. 

But a historian of the fourth century, whatever his creed, has 
to deal with Christians. Ammianus is quite free from bias; Chris- 
tian or heathen is much the same to him—Tros Tyriusque mihi 
nullo discrimine agetur. He has no animus whatever, and is so far 
unique among his contemporaries. He finds grave fault with Julian 
for forbidding Christian professors to teach ancient literature, stig- 
matizing the decree as one obruendwm perenni silentio*, “to be 
overwhelmed in eternal silence” —strong words to use of a man he 
loved and honoured, and speaking volumes for the fairness of the 
writer. As an outsider, however, who will have other outsiders 
among his readers, he will often half apologize for a technical term 
—‘‘a deacon as it is called,” “synods as they call them.” A bishop 
is Christianae legis antistes, though he slips into episcopus now 
and then. A church is Christiani ritus sacrarium, or Christiani 
ritus conventiculum, or frankly ecclesia. These roundabout phrases 
are largely due to his environment ; for the traditions of literature 
and good society ignored the new religion’®. 


1 xxiii. 5, 8—11. He was disgusted with the quacks and pretenders who 
swarmed round Julian. Augury and so forth were degraded when practised in 
irregular ways and by the inexpert. Cf. xxii. 12, 7, and Socrates, iii. 1, 55. 

2 xxii. 10, 7. 

3 This might of itself, I think, dispose of Gutschmid’s ingenious attempt 
to correct a defective passage in xxii. 16, 22. Ammianus is enumerating 
the great men whose teaching has been influenced by Egypt (Pythagoras, 
Anaxagoras and Solon) and his last name is lost. Ex his fontibus per sublimia 
gradiens sermonum amplitudine Jovis aemulus non visa Aegypto militavit 
sapientia gloriosa, Gutschmid wants to read, after his, ihs, i.e. Jesus; Valesius 
would prefer correcting non into Platon. When one remembers that even 
Christians of the type of Augustine and Jerome found the style of the Bible 


bad and unreadable at first; that heathen writers habitually ignore the Church, _ 


its doctrines and usages as far as possible; that the use of the name Jesus 
alone is unusual, coming on one with a surprise in Jerome, while Tacitus 


says Christus and Suetonius Chrestus and dismiss the matter; that Ammianus, 


who was an admirer of Julian and generally in literary matters wishful to be 
correct, would have been a revolutionary among educated pagans if he had 


eS ee 


a ae ee, EE 


Se ee 


Ammianus Marcellinus 41 


But Ammianus was no pedant, and can speak in terms of 

- admiration of the men' “who, to hold their faith inviolate, faced 

a glorious death and are now called martyrs.’ In another passage, 

speaking of the sufferings inflicted on the followers of the pre- 

_* tender Procopius—-which were very much those undergone by the 

martyrs of Palestine according to Eusebius—he says’ he had 
rather die in battle ten times over than face them. 

Side by side with this stand his startling words on the warring 
of the sects. Julian, on the principle of Divide ut imperes, recalled 
; the Nicene exiles with a view to fresh theological quarrels*; “for he 
' knew that there are no wild beasts so hostile to mankind as most 
of the Christians are to one another.” It was only two centuries 
’ since Tertullian heard the heathen remarking wt sese invicem 
diligunt. He records the terrible fight in a church at Rome‘ 
between the followers of Damasus and Ursinus, the rival candi- 
dates for the See, when one hundred and thirty-seven dead bodies 
were found on the victory of Damasus. Here is his comment— 

“T do not deny, when I consider the ostentation of Roman society, 
that those who are ambitious for this thing (the See) ought to 
spare no effort in the fray to secure what they want, for, if they 
get it, they will be sure of being enriched by the offerings of 
matrons, of riding about in carriages, dressed in clothes the 
cynosure of every eye, and of giving banquets so profuse, that their 
entertainments shall surpass the tables of kings’. They might be 
happy indeed, if they could despise the magnificence of Rome, 
which they count a set-off to the crimes involved, and live in 
imitation of certain bishops of the provinces, whom their sparing 
diet, the cheapness of their clothes, and their eyes fixed upon the 
ground, commend as pure and holy men, to the eternal deity and 
his true worshippers.” 

* Once he seems to express a preference, when he complains of 
Constantius “confounding the pure and simple Christian religion 
with old-wife superstition®”” Probably anilis superstitio is his 


found ‘‘sublime eloquence” or ‘‘glorious wisdom” in Christianity; and finally 
that he nowhere shews any acquaintance with any Christian literature what- 
ever, and fails to realize what Arian and Nicene were disputing about around 
him ; the brilliance of Gutschmid becomes more and more impossible. 

Sexi. 11/10; 2 xxvi. 10, 13. 

3 xxii, 5, 4, 4 xxvii. 3, 12. 

5 Cf. Augustine’s early judgment on Ambrose, Conf. vi. 3, 3. 

6 xxi. 16, 18. Christianam religionem absolutam et simplicem anili super- 
stitione confundens in qua scrutanda perplexius quam componenda gravius 
excitavit discidia plurima, quae progressa fusius alwit concertatione verborum, 


42 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


summary criticism of all theological speculation. Constantine took 
the same view and wrote to Arius and Alexander remonstrating 
about their quarrel which he called “childish folly”—they were 
“too precise ’’ (ἀκριβολογεῖσθε, exactly Ammianus’ in gua scrutanda 
perplexius) about these “entirely trifling questions.” Constantine 
complained that these clergy caused disorder and discord; and 
Ammianus says the same of Constantius (guam componenda gra- 
vius)’. In any case, in view of his treatment of Athanasius and 
the curt dismissal of the Athanasian question’, it is hardly clear 
that he censures Arianism, which in fact was less likely to seem 
anilis superstitio to a heathen than Nicene Christianity. At all 
events Constantius was too “curious about the Christian religion,” 
and ruined the State’s arrangements for the quick travelling of 
genuine officials by giving free passes to swarms of bishops who did 
little but go from one synod to another. 

I think we may surmise Ammianus’ own feelings from his 
remark about Valentinian®. Valentinian was rather a savage ruler 
on Ammianus’ own shewing, but ‘‘this reign was glorious for the 
moderation with which he stood among the different religions and 
troubled no one, nor gave orders that this should be worshipped or 
that ; nor did he try by threatening rescripts to bend the neck of 
his subjects to what he worshipped himself, but he left the parties 
untouched as he found them.” Surveying all his references to 
Christianity, I am afraid we must admit that he did not realize 
what it meant, nor understand how vital was the issue between 
Arian and Nicene. How should he, when there were hundreds in 
the church who did neither? We must also always remember that, 
beside being a man who kept himself in the background, he was 
writing for a society which avowedly had no interest at all in 
Christian affairs‘. 

Ammianus did not lack for dry humour; witness the soldiers 
who would have won a certain battle “if only they had displayed 
the vigour in standing which they shewed in running away”; and 
“Epigonus, a philosopher so far as clothes went”; or Mercurius 
“who was like a savage dog that wags his tail the more sub- 
ut catervis antistitum jumentis publicis ultroque citroque discurrentibus per 
synodos quas appellant dum ritum omnem ad suum trahere conantur arbitrium, 
rei vehiculariae succideret nervos. 

1 See Constantine’s letter apud Euseb. V. C. ii. 69—71 and Soer. i. 7. 

2 xv. 7, 6—10. 3 xxx. 9, 5. 

4 The Abbé Gimazane is very anxious to make Ammianus a Christian, at 


least so far as to have been baptized, though he admits that his supposed faith 
is lukewarm. I see neither the gain nor the grounds. - 


Ammianus Marcellinus 43 


missively for being a brute inside”; or the would-be Emperor 
Procopius, “about whom the wonder was that his life through he 
shed no man’s blood”; or that governor of Africa “who was in 
a hurry to outstrip the enemy in plundering his province”; or 
finally, those lawyers of Antioch who, if you mentioned in their 
presence the name of some worthy of old, took it to be some 
foreign term for a fish or other eatable’. But what would have 
been in Tacitus one of the bitterest of epigrams, is in Ammianus 
no epigram at all. IJmperialis verecundia, the chastity of an 
emperor, was the great phenomenon of the fourth and fifth cen- 
turies, whose emperors, whatever else they may have been, were in 
this matter above scandal. 

There is a beautiful picture of the triumphal entry of Con- 
stantius into Rome*. He was a little man, long in the body and 
short and rather bandy in the legs, but 


He nothing common did nor mean 
Upon that memorable scene. 


He rode in a golden chariot, and for all the noise and applause 
never flinched, but stood immovable; but ‘on passing through lofty 


ἢ gateways he would bow his little person; and as if his neck were 


fortified, he kept his gaze straight in front of him, and looked 
neither right nor left, as if he had been a dummy; the shaking of 
_ the wheels did not make him nod, and he was not seen to spit, or 
wipe his mouth or his nose, or move his hand throughout.” 

A grim humour hangs about the coronation of Procopius*, who, 
after months in hiding, blossomed out as an Emperor. He appeared 
before the soldiers without a cloak, and so emaciated as to look as 
if he had risen from the dead, and all the purple he could muster 
_ was his boots and a rag he waved in his left hand :—‘“you would 
_ have thought him some figure on the stage, or some ridiculous 
burlesque that had popped through the curtain.’ His procession 
was hardly a success ; for the soldiers were afraid of being assailed 
_ with tiles from the roofs, and marched along holding their shields 
over their heads. 

Of Ammianus’ residence in Rome we have many reminders, some 
__ of very great interest, some very amusing. His description of the 
_ city on the occasion of Constantius’ visit shews the hold Rome still 


1 The same doubt has arisen in our own day as to whether Botticelli is a 
cheese or a wine, if we may trust Mr Punch. / 
5 3 χγί, 10. 3 xxvi. 6, 15. 


44 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


had on the world’s imagination. ‘Whatever he saw first he 
thought supreme above all.” There was the temple of ‘T'arpeian 
Jove, the baths as big as provinces, the solid mass of the amphi- 
theatre built of Tiburtine stone, to whose top the human eye could 
hardly reach, and so forth. ‘But when he came to Trajan’s forum 
—a structure, I suppose, unique under heaven, which even the 
gods would agree with us in admiring—he stood in amazement'.” 
Rome was the ove thing in the world about which exaggeration 
was impossible. The Emperor was so much impressed that he 
determined to add his item to the ornaments of the Eternal City, 
and sent an obelisk from Egypt. Of this and the inscription it 
bore, and its journey and arrival, Ammianus gives us a most 
interesting account’. . 

But more entertaining are his digressions on Roman manners, 
which abound in sketches as good as Juvenal’s*. The snobbery and 
extravagance of the great men of Rome may not have been more 
excessive than such things are elsewhere; but the grandee who with 
the greatest dignity (though no one has asked) extols to the skies 
his patrimony and the income it yields, how fertile it is, how far it 
reaches ; the noble gentleman who welcomes you, though an utter 
stranger, as if he had been yearning for you, asks you endless 
questions till you have to lie, and makes you regret that you did 
not settle in Rome ten years earlier, but next day has no idea who 
or what or whence you are; the fashionable people, who loathed 
sensible and well-educated men like the plague, and learning like 
poison—all these impressed Ammianus so much that he has left 
them gibbeted for ever in his pages. The troops of slaves and 
eunuchs (his particular abhorrence), the luxury of the banquets, the 
Roman preference for the musician rather than the philosopher, the 
organs and lyres as big as waggons, the libraries closed like the 
tomb, the absurd fear of infection that has the slave washed after 
he has been to inquire about a sick friend before he is allowed into 
the house again, the gambling and horse racing, the effeminacy and 
the slang* of Rome, waken disgust in this old soldier, as well they 
might. The rabble that will fight for Damasus or Ursinus, and 


1 xvi, 10, 15. Cf. Symmachus, Rel. 3, 7, on Constantius’ toleration of the 


3 xiv. 6; xxviii. 4. Boissier, Ε΄, P, ii. 187, says: ‘Dams ces passages qui ne 
ressemblent pas tout 4 fait au reste il est plus satirique et rhéteur qu’historien.” 

4 E.g. Per te ille discat. Cf. Jerome, Ep. 55, 5, When they see a Christian, 
statim illud de trivio 6 γραικός, ὁ ἐπιθέτης. 


Ammianus Marcellinus 45 


riot if the corn ships are late or wine is not forthcoming, are no 
better than the nobles. The most absurd figure of all, perhaps, is 
_ Lampadius, who was at one time prefect—“a man who would be 
indignant if he should so much as spit without being complimented 
on being adept at it above the rest of mankind.” But even in 
Rome there were good men and true, such as Symmachus “ who is 
to be named among the most illustrious examples of learning and 
decorum.” 

If this is comedy there is tragedy enough in book xiv. Gallus. 
Caesar is in the midst of a career of tyranny and bloodshed in the 
East’, when he is summoned to Italy. ΤῸ disarm his suspicion he 
is bidden to bring his wife Constantina’—a helpmeet indeed for him, 
“a death-dealing Megaera, the constant inflamer of his rage, as. 
greedy of human blood as her spouse”—a lady who listens from 
behind a curtain to keep him from weakening. She did not feel 
easy about the invitation, yet thought she would risk it, but she 
died of fever in Bithynia on her journey, and Gallus felt more 
nervous than ever, for he knew Constantius and “his particular 
tendency to destroy his kin.” He knew his own staff hated him, 
and were afraid of Constantius, for wherever civil strife was in- 
volved the “luck” of Constantius was proverbial. A tribune was 
sent to lure him to his ruin; “and as the senses of men are dulled 
and blunted when Destiny lays a hand on them, with quickened 
hopes he left Antioch, under the guidance of an unpropitious power, 
to jump as they say from the frying pan into the fire.” On his 
journey he gave horse races at Constantinople, and the Emperor’s 
rage was more than human. A guard of honour (and espionage) 
accompanied him. From Adrianople he was hurried on with fewer 
attendants, and now he saw how he stood and “cursed his rashness 
with tears.” The ghosts of his victims haunted his dreams. At 
Petobio he was made a prisoner, and at Histria he was beheaded, 
and all of him that reached Constantius was his boots, which a 
creature of the Court hauled off to post away to the Emperor 
with this glorious spoil. 

What is the general impression left on the mind by the history 
of Ammianus? One cannot read him through without a growing 
conviction of his absolute truthfulness and a growing admiration of 


1 Even his brother Julian admits ‘fierce and savage” elements in his 
character. Ep. ad Athen. 271 ν. 
ie. Honoured since the 13th century as 8. Constanza. Gregorovius, Rome, i. 


46 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


his power, and the two together present the Roman Empire to the 
mind exactly as it was. He makes no predictions, he expresses no 
regrets, and apart from observations on the characters he draws, 
he leaves the reader to form his own opinions on the Empire. 
Nobody foresaw that in twenty years after his death Rome would 
have fallen to the Goth, that the Empire as an effective power in 
the West was nearing. its end, but yet, wise after the event, we 
can see in his pages that it is all coming. There were, we learn, 
strong men and honest men to stave it off and delay it, who, if 
they could not save Rome, did save Europe in virtue of those ideals 
of law and order which the younger peoples of the North found in 
the majestic fabric of Roman administration. Ammianus lets us see 
the exhaustion of the Roman world, the ruin of the middle classes 
under an oppressive system, and often still more oppressive agents, 
of taxation, the weakness all along the frontier, Rhine, Danube, 
Euphrates, and African desert, caused by bad principles of govern- 
ment within as much as by attacks from without, and the crying 
need of men which led to the army being filled with barbarians, 
who did not quite lose all their barbarism and brutality at once, 
and were often as terrible to those they protected as to the enemy 
they were supposed to keep off; and at the same time we read in 
him the grandeur and the glory of Rome, who had welded the 
world into one and made the nations members one of another, had 
humanized and civilized them with law and culture in her train 
wherever she went, and was even now training in her armies the 
men who should overthrow her, and then, as it were in horror at 
their own work, should set her on high once more, and keep her in 
her place as the world’s Queen for a thousand years. 


CHAPTER ΠῚ 


JULIAN 


Perfidus ile Deo, quamvis non perfidus orbi. 
PRUDENTIUS Apoth. 454 


Onz of the amiable traits in man’s nature is to love what is old 
for its own sake. Our affection for progress is not always utterly 
disinterested, but the love of the past is the purest of passions. 
_ And we are so made, or many of us are, that we love the old the 
_ more because it is the lost cause. It may be a weakness, but it is 
a gentle weakness. Yet it is apt to mislead us, and we sometimes 
_ allow age and defeat to obscure in our lost cause or our fallen hero 
features that would repel us in a triumph. ‘Thus in some measure 
has it come about that there is a kindly feeling for Julian beyond 
_ what his worth really merits, and it is reinforced by the malignity 
and hatred with which ecclesiastical writers have, or are supposed 
to have, pursued his memory. The tradition grew that he was 
ἘΠ champion of reason and enlightenment against the crudity and 
_ darkness of Christianity, and indeed these words are practically 
 Julian’s own. But the reason and enlightenment of which he 
4 thought and wrote would have seemed to many, who have admired 
him for their sake, as crude and foolish as the dogmas of the 
_ Church against which he protested. After all he owes something 
to the spiteful nickname he bears. 

The Julian of sentimental atheism is really as far from 
the truth as the Julian drawn by over-zealous ecclesiastics. The 
δ real Julian is more interesting than either, because a more compli- 
cated character. He found fault with Old and New Testaments 
_ very much in the style of Voltaire, but he was not a sceptic. He 
_ was hated as a persecutor, though again and again he declares his 


48 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


wish and his intention to maintain religious freedom. Many rulers 
have upheld religion, very few have felt so deeply conscious of 
divine guidance or so utterly dependent upon it as he. For most 
men the religion of Christ seems to supply the closest, the most 
vital and the most absorptive communion with the divine; to some 
it has seemed to draw too much upon faith. But Julian decided it 
was a cold sectarianism that cut a man away from heaven and left 
him godless in a godless world. For some it has been a divine 
alchemy transmuting everything it touched to gold. For Julian 
it did the reverse, and for the gold of Homer and Plato offered the 
lead of Matthew and Luke. It was a blight upon the Greek spirit 
which had given life to the world for a thousand years. We can 
now see that this Greek spirit had died long since a natural death, 
but the Greeks of Julian’s day fondly hoped it was living in them 
still, and Julian voices the horror with which they began to feel 
the chill of death and the natural, if rather irrational, hatred they 
felt for what they supposed to be its cause’. 

“Draw me as you have seen me,” wrote Julian to a painter. In 
one way this is easy to do, for few men have ever let mankind see 
into their inmost feelings as he did; but it is difficult, too, for the 
atmosphere in which he lived was not ours, and many things look 
strange to-day which were not felt to be unnatural then. Zeus and 
Athena are not now, and we can only with difficulty conceive them 
ever to have been for thinking men, even with all the generous 
allowances philosophers might make, a possible alternative to Christ. 
Yet are they stranger than Krishnu and Kali? Is it not possible 
to-day fur a man to halt between two opinions in India, and find 
in the philosophy or theosophy of thirty centuries of Hinduism an 
attraction which may outweigh Christianity? When we think of 
the age of Julian we must not forget that the Brahmo-Somaj 
exists to-day. Even Christians of his day believed his gods to be 
real beings, of course demons. 


1 Perhaps the best thing is to quote a Latin view to supplement this. 
Rutilius (i. 383—396) attacks the Jews and involves Christians with them. 


atque utinam nunquam Judaea subacta fuisset 
Pompeii bellis imperiisque Titi; 
latius excisae pestis contagia serpunt 
victoresque suos natio victa premit. 
Further on he assails the monks, and concludes 


non, rogo, deterior Circaeis secta venenis ? 
tunc mutabantur corpora, nune animi. 


Julian 49 


The fourth century saw the last great persecution of the Church 
end in failure, and the new religion recognized and honoured by 
Constantine. With him a new spirit came into the Roman Empire. 
Hitherto so long as a man did a loyal citizen’s duty, the State did 
not intervene to regulate his belief. But now Constantine, weary 
of the civil disorder the Arian quarrel made at Alexandria and 
then communicated to other places as the infection spread, called 
a council of the Church and invited the bishops to. decide what the 
Christian faith was, and he would then see to it himself that there 
should be no more quarrelling about it. He was, however, dis- 
appointed, for the quarrels went on, and when he died in 337 they 
were still unsettled. Whatever might have been Constantine’s own 
religious position, his son’s was clear. Constantius carried to the 
inevitable halting-place the theory that a man’s belief is the 
State’s concern. He did not aim at reconciling the factions for the 
sake of concord, but at converting them all to his belief. His aim 
was that of Justinian or Henry VIII.—to dictate to his realm what 
it was to believe. This affected Christians at once, and signs were 
not lacking that the heathen ere long must in their turn be Arian, 
Semi-Arian or Nicene, as the ruler might require. 

Constantine Jeft behind three sons and a number of nephews 
and other relatives, but, whether the deed was the army’s, done to 
_ secure “the seed of Constantine”-—a phrase a man might conjure 
with at this time—or whether it was the work of Constantius, this 
great family was thinned down, and the sons of Constantine were 
left to rule the world alone’. Two of their cousins survived, the 
sons of their father’s half-brother, Gallus and Julian. Gallus was 
thought to be so ill as to render murder unnecessary, and Julian 
was so small—six years old—as to be overlooked. It was a dark 
beginning for a life, like “the unspeakable tale from some tragedy ” 
rather than the record of a Christian house, and Julian lays the 
guilt on Constantius, “the kindest of men.” (Hp. Ath. 270 ©.) 
Tn later days Constantius, who, too, had a conscience, looked upon 
his childlessness as Heaven’s criticism of his deed. Had he lived a 
month or two longer, to see his daughter, he might have had to 


1 Licinius had thirty years before set the precedent by clearing away as far 


3 as he could all persons who by marriage or descent were connected with any 


_ previous Emperor. This was to exclude the possibility of a pretender. Such 
as it is, this is the justification of Constantius—“‘the sixth commandment,” 
says Seeck, writing of Constantine killing the younger Licinius, ‘‘ must yield to 
the safety of the empire.” 


G. + 


δ0 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


revise this opinion. The heathen world, if Libanius’ voices a 
general feeling, saw in the extinction of the whole of Constantine’s 
family the vengeance of the injured gods. 

Julian was left to the care of his kinsman, the great Semi-Arian 
Bishop of Constantinople, Eusebius of Nicomedeia’, and of a faithful 
eunuch Mardonius, who had been his mother’s tutor. Some have 
tried to lay the blame of Julian’s apostasy on the theology of 
Eusebius and his party. It would be nearer the truth to lay it on 
their unscoured morals as exhibited in the court of Constantius. 
Eusebius himself we may acquit of direct influence on Julian. 
Great ecclesiastical statesmen have rarely, perhaps, the leisure to 
teach little boys, and whatever leisure and inclination Eusebius 
may have had to teach Julian, he died when his charge was still 
a child. Mardonius had been reared by Julian’s grandfather and 
was a faithful servant who watched well over the boy. He had a 
passion for Homer and Greek literature*, and when the lad would 
ask leave to go to races or anything of the kind, the old man would 
refer him to the 23rd of the Jiiad and bid him find his races there. 
Two things resulted from this training. Julian’s moral character 
was thoroughly sound throughout life. He never entered the 
theatre till his beard was grown, and as a man he hated the races 
(Misop. 351, and 340 a). On the other hand Mardonius does not 
seem to have spent much time with his pupil on the Christian 
scriptures, and Julian’s earliest and happiest associations were with 
Homer, whose poetry he always loved. : 


1 See Sievers, Das Leben des Libanius, p. 192. : 

3 Amm. Mare. xxii. 9,4. A pedigree of the maternal connexions of Julian 
may be found in Seeck’s great edition of Symmachus, p. clxxy. It is not 
quite complete, as the bishop is omitted. 

3 For Mardonius see Misopogon, 3524. He was a Hellenized Scythian, 
and perhaps it was in some measure due to him that Julian was so entirely 
out of touch with Latin literature, but the Greek sophists with whom he 
consorted were of one mind in neglecting Latin. E£.g. Libanius (Sievers, 
op. cit. p. 13) needed an interpreter for a Latin letter. See Rohde, der 
griechische Roman, p. 298, on this preference felt by the later Greeks for them- 
selves—a, preference which Julian shared but which did not gain him support 
in the Latin world. If Epistle 55 be written from Gaul or the West, as I think, 
we have Julian’s views on the tongue half his Empire used—playful no doubt :— 
τὰ δὲ ἐμά, εἰ καὶ φθεγγοίμην Ἑλληνιστί, θαυμάζειν ἄξιον. οὕτως ἐσμὲν éxBeBap- 
βαρωμένοι διὰ τὰ χωρία. Elsewhere (Or. ii. 724) he speaks of what they (the 
Latins) do with the letter V.  Eutropius (x. 16, 3) remarks his one-sided 
education—liberalibus disciplinis adprime eruditus, Graecis doctior atque adeo 
ut Latina eruditio nequaquam cum Graeca scientia conveniret. Constantine, on 
the other hand, addressed the Nicene Council (mainly Eastern and Greek- 
speaking Bishops) in Latin, but when presiding over the debates he intervened 
in Greek. (Euseb. Vita Constantini, ili. 13.) 


a δνῳδυδινόνν. 


ΟΣ δ αν," ...ὄ ee oe ee ee ee ey a ee 


Julian 51 


A sudden edict from Constantius removed his two cousins to a 
rather remote place in Cappadocia. Macellum has been described 
as a castle or a palace. Very probably it was both. Julian, when 
he is attacking Constantius’ memory, asserts that there he and 
his brother were shut off from schools, companions and training 
suitable to their age and rank (Hp. Ath. 271), but from another 
source we learn it was a place with a magnificent palace, baths, 
gardens and perpetual springs, where he enjoyed the attention and 
dignity his rank deserved, and had the literary and gymnastic 
training usual for youths of his age. (Sozomen v. 2, 9.) His 
teachers, it is suggested, were Christian clergy, who probably had the 
less influence for seeming to be the creatures of Constantius’. 
Consequently their instructions had not the charm of Mardonius’, 
and it may be to them that he owes his repugnance for the Bible. 
It was not admired as a rule by the educated of the day—a 
terrible reflexion on the system that left them incapable of appre- 
ciating it. Longinus (ix. 9), it is true, quotes the passage “ Let 
there be light: and there was light” as an instance of the sublime, 
and Porphyry occasionally cites the Old Testament in a friendly 
spirit, but they are exceptions. Wherever he may first have read 
the Scriptures, Julian never understood them. He had a good 
superficial knowledge of them, but no idea of their spirit and 
significance. ‘he anthropomorphisms of the old Hebrew stories he 
found less wise and more crude than those of Greek legend ; while, 
for the New Testament, little is to be expected of a critic who 
can pronounce that Paul “outdid all the quacks and cheats that 
ever existed anywhere’.” 

Of course he would have no noble companions save his 
brother, but this was inevitable. Constantius seems to have meant 
to keep them in reserve, out of his way and safe from plotters who 
might make tools of them, but still available and properly trained 
in case of his needing them himself. Later on it was easy to repre- 
sent these years at Macellum as bleak exile. 

As to Gallus, Julian says that “if there were anything savage 
and rough that afterwards appeared in his character” (and it 
seems generally agreed that there was a good deal) “it developed 


4 from this long residence in the mountains.” Whether Gallus 


would have done better in Constantinople is very doubtful. Nero, 


4 Domitian and Commodus do not seem to have derived much benefit 


1 So Rode, p. 27, and Vollert, p. 15. 
? See Neumann’s reconstruction of his book against the Christians, p. 176. 


4—2 


52 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


from the atmosphere of Rome. For himself, “the gods kept him 
pure by means of philosophy.” Some of this “philosophy” was no 
doubt previously learnt, but some, it is possible, was acquired from 
the books “many philosophical and many rhetorical” which George 
(afterwards bishop of Alexandria) “gave him to copy when in Cappa- 
docia’.” There is nothing very original about any of his philo- 
sophical ideas. 

From Macellum Gallus was summoned to be made Caesar by 
Constantius, to govern Syria in true tyrant fashion, to rouse the 
Emperor’s ill-will, to be recalled and put to death. Julian later 
on tried to make political capital out of his being put to death 
untried, but from the pages of Ammianus Marcellinus we learn 
that whether tried or not (and those were not days when political 
offenders were over-nicely tried), Gallus richly deserved his fate. 

The suspicions of Constantius extended to Julian, and for some 
time he was kept at court under his cousin’s eye or within reach. 
But the Empress Eusebia was his friend, reconciled her husband to 
him, and obtained leave for him to live in Athens. For this Julian 
was always grateful to her memory’. 

Julian had spent six years at Macellum, and since then had 
attended at Constantinople and Nicomedeia the lectures of some 
of the great teachers of the day. He was made to promise he 
would not hear Libanius, and he kept his promise but obtained 
written reports of the lectures*. He was still nominally a Christian 
and a “reader,” though really at heart a heathen already, when he 
went to Athens in 355, to meet there men whose acquaintance he 
counted among the best gifts of his life*. 

We have a picture of him drawn by his fellow-student, Gregory 


_ 1 Ep. Ath. 2724 and Ep. 9 (on the rescue of George’s books). I owe this 
suggestion to Vollert, p. 15, and Rode, p. 26. 

2 Oration iii. p. 118 p. 

3 Sievers, op. cit. p. 54 and Rode, p. 29. 

4 An interesting study of students and professors i in the Athens of Julian’s 
day will be found in Mr Capes’ University Life in Ancient Athens (Longmans). 
He brings out the connexion between the city government and the ‘* University,” 
which explains Julian’s addressing his manifesto in 360 ‘‘ to the Council and 
People of the Athenians.” It was a little pedantic in any case to send it to 
Athens at all, but the act is characteristic of Julian. 

See also Sievers, op. cit. ch. iii. on universities, rhetoricians and scholars, 
and ch. iv. on Athens; and Wachsmuth, Die Stadt Athen im Alterthum, 
pp. 709—711, who emphasizes that Athens was purely a university town now 
and quotes Eunapius (v. Prohaeresii, p. 492) for Constantius’ endowment of 
the university with some islands οὐκ ὀλέγας οὐδὲ μικράς. The two letters of 
Synesius, 54 and 136, quoted on p. 337, are of great interest in this connexion 
though of a later date. 


Julian 53 


of Nazianzus', which has been described as “‘a coarse caricature,” 
but which, nevertheless, seems to me not unlikely to be fairly true 
if a man’s nature does reveal itself in look and gesture. Julian’s 
own writings give us the impression of a fidgety, nervous tem- 
perament, and his admirer, Ammianus, tells us a number of stories 
which betray a want of repose. Gregory in Athens remarked (or 
says he remarked) a certain changeableness and excitability in 
him, beside a rather loose-hung neck, twitching shoulders, a rolling 
eye, a laugh uncontrollable and spasmodic, a spluttering speech, 
and an inability to stand or sit without fidgeting with his feet. 
All these signs seem to point one way, and if we realize that his 
temperament was restless, and that his training had not been of a 
kind to correct his natural tendency to be nervous and emotional, 
we may find less difficulty in explaining the variety of his religious 
opinions. 

He enjoyed the student’s life, but he was to be called away 
from it. The exigencies of the Empire had compelled Constantius 
to associate Gallus with himself as Caesar, and the fact that Gallus 
had been a failure did not alter the situation. Julian was the 
only available person to fill his place, and Constantius, with some 
constitutional hesitation and reluctance, made him Caesar and sent 
him to Gaul to free the country from German invaders. It was an 
honour Julian could have done without, and as he drove back to 
the palace in his purple robe he kept muttering to himself the 
line of Homer (74. v. 83): 


ἔλλαβε πορφύρεος θάνατος καὶ μοῖρα κραταιή. 

Him purple death laid hold on and stern fate. 
The story is told by Ammianus (xy. 8), and it sums up the situation. 
The scholar is dragged from his study to be invested with the purple, 
which had been his brother’s ruin and may be his own as easily, if a 
eunuch whisper it at the right moment to the suspicious Constantius; 
and he cannot draw back, for stern fate wills it so, and all that the 
purple means is that he will die with less leisure for the development 
of his inner 1165. 

So “torn from the shades of academic calm,” Julian was plunged 


“into the dust of Mars*” in Gaul, at first with but little direct 


1 Cited by Socrates, H. H. iii. 23, 18. 

2 Sir William Fraser tells us Disraeli’s one mark of nervousness as he sat 
in Parliament was a restless crossing, uncrossing and re-crossing of his legs. 

3 Amm. Mare. xv. 8, 20: nihil se plus adsecutum quam ut occupatior interiret. 

4 Amm. Mare. xvi. 1, 5. 


δ4 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


responsibility. For this he was very angry with Constantius, though 
at the time he could say nothing, and he believed (or it was said so) 
that it was a matter of indifference to the Emperor whether he slew 
the Germans or the Germans slew him, for in either case the Empire 
would be freed from menace. But, as Sozomen points out, if 
Constantius had merely wanted to kill Julian, he could have done it 
without marrying his own sister® to him and putting him in so 
conspicuous a position. Constantius indeed loved to keep things 
in such a way as to be able to have both of two mutually exclusive 
alternatives, but it was surely not strange or outrageous of him to 
entrust only a little power to begin with to an untried man. As 
Julian proved himself worthy of more power, and his colleagues 
shewed themselves unfit for it, Constantius gave him more, till 
he had supreme command in Gaul. After his wont, however, he 
surrounded Julian with creatures of his own and withdrew from him 
almost his only friend in the provinces, the trusty Sallust. 

It was- not to be expected that Julian would be successful as 
a soldier, but he was. Indeed a modern critic has said that it was 
only as a soldier that he was great*.4 He was popular with the 
soldiers, for he would share their privations and he led them to 
victory. He won the regard of the Gauls by ridding them of the 
Germans, and by reducing the land tax about 70 per cent., and he 
had the respect of the Germans‘, for he could beat them in battle 
and keep his word with them when his victory was secure. His 
ambition was to be like the Emperor Marcus Aurelius®, and though 
a different man, and a weaker, he may be said to have resembled 
him at least in honourable devotion to duty and the cultivation of 
the higher life. 


1 Zosimus (iii. 1) puts this very amiable suggestion into Eusebia’s mouth! 

2 It is curious that Julian only twice refers to her in his extant remains— 
Or. li. 128 ν», Ep. Ath. 2848, 

3 Boissier, La Fin du Paganisme, i. 188. I do not know enough of military 
matters to be able to criticize this statement or to give any account of his 
page ἐξ a that could have an independent value. The reader may be referred 
to J. F. A. Miicke (Flavius Claudius Julianus, part 1. Julian’s Kriegsthaten, 
ree 1867) who is however criticized as generally too friendly to Julian, and 
to W. Koch+(Kaiser Julian, Leipzig 1899). Miicke, op. cit. p. 50, calls the ᾿ 
German wars ‘‘ein grosses Werk, werth der Unsterblichkeit.” 

4 He seems to have respected the Germans, remarking their charac- 
teristics—rd φιλελεύθερόν τε καὶ ἀνυπότακτον Τερμανῶν (Neumann, p. 184). 
He did not so much admire their beer, disliking its smell, if we may judge 
from his epigram on it. 

5 Amm. Mare. xxii. 5,4. Amm. Mare. xvi. 1, 4 rectae perfectaeque rationis 
indagine congruens Marco ad cujus aemulationem actus suos effingebat et mores. 
Eutropius x. 16 M. Antonino non absimilis erat quem etiam aemulari studebat. 
This ambition was avowed likewise by Diocletian (Hist. Aug. M. Antonin. 19). 


Julian 55 


He was too successful in Gaul to retain the good-will of 
Constantius, and the wits of the court amused themselves with 
jokes about the “goat” (in allusion to his beard), the “purpled 
monkey,” and the ‘‘ Greek professor',” and with darker insinuations 
that must ultimately mean death for him. Constantius grew 
nervous, and, as war with Persia was imminent, he sent to Julian to 
demand a considerable number of Gallic troops. Whether they 
were really wanted for the war, or the order was sent merely to 
weaken Julian, it was a blunder. He could reply that Gaul could 
not safely be left without them in view of the Germans, and the 
troops could say, and did say, that the terms of their enlistment 
exempted them from service so far from home*. Julian wrote and 
the troops mutinied, and exactly what Constantius was trying to 
prevent occurred. The soldiers hailed Julian Emperor. He was 
reluctant, but without avail. They raised him aloft on a shield, 
and crown him they must and would*. It is interesting to note 
that, a crown not unnaturally not being forthcoming, Julian rejected 
the first two substitutes proposed, a woman’s gold chain and some 
part of a horse’s trappings, but submitted to be crowned with a 
soldier's bracelet (360 a.D.)‘*. 

The fatal step was taken, but it is characteristic of the Roman 
Empire, though neither of the men was strictly Roman, that though 
civil war was inevitable, each should go on with the work he had in 
hand for the State’. Sulla had not returned to deal with his enemies 
in Italy till he had crushed Mithradates. Negotiations, if such they 
can be called, went on for a while, till in 361 the two Emperors 
marched against each other. ‘They never met. Happily for every- 
body, Constantius died on his march, and all Julian had to do was 
to have him buried. 

Julian was now sole Emperor, and could at last freely avow the 
faith he had held in secret for some ten years and openly proceed 


1 Amm. Mare. xvii. 11, 1 Capella non homo—loquax talpa—purpurata 
simia—litterio Graecus. xx. 4, 1 Constantium urebant Juliani virtutes. 
Julian himself (Zp. 68) says his relations with Constantius might be summed 
up as λυκοφιλία. 

2 Amm. Mare. xx. 4, 4. 

3 Cf. Sulpicius Severus Dial. ii. (=i.) 6, 2 magnum imperium nec sine periculo 
renui nec sine armis potuit retineri. 

4 Amm. Mare. xx. 4, 17 primis auspiciis non congruere aptari muliebri 
mundo. ‘The whole affair shews a German rather than a Roman tone prevalent 
in the army. We may compare Julian’s sneer at the usurper Silvanus and his 
purple robe ἐκ τῆς γυναικωνίτιδος (Oration ii. 98 p—a work written some years 
earlier than this). 

5 Mr Bury, Later Roman Empire, i. 127, n. 4, remarks that Julian, though 
Greek in sympathies, was in many ways more Roman than Greek. 


56 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


with the religious reformation he intended to effect’. He could 
plead the precedents of Constantine and Constantius for his attempts 
to remould the belief of his subjects, and his first step was to recall 
the Nicene bishops his predecessor had banished and to proclaim 
toleration for all religions. 

Before following out the steps of his reformation, it will be well 
to study his own mind and learn if possible how he came to change 
his faith, and what he found in Hellenism that Christianity could 
not οἴου 

The first thing we have to realize clearly is that Julian was 
essentially a weak man, by nature inclined to a sentimentalism and 
a conceit which an evil environment developed. He was not an 
original thinker at all, but a born disciple, readily amenable to the 
mysterious and to flattery. 

When the Antiochenes made a watchword of the letters “Chi 
and Kappa”—the initials of Christ and Constantius’, it was not a 
random shot, but a deliberate combination of two names, which 
were already connected in Julian’s mind. Constantius was above all 
things a Christian Emperor, and a Christian who could not content 
himself with the popular view of his religion, but kept restlessly 
intruding into the discussion of theological subtleties, better left to 
bishops, till he excited the disgust of honest, practical men like 
Ammianus*. And this man, the nervous student of creeds, ever on 
the alert for a diphthong too many or too few, was also the 
murderer, who had executed the “tragic curse” on his family, as 
ready to add Julian to his list of victims as to take part in a battle 
of bishops. A Christian and a murderer, he was for years the 
baleful figure in the background of Julian’s thoughts. His friends 
and satellites were no better than he—men as unscrupulous in 
currying favour at court as in maintaining their faith at a council. 


1 He writes to Maximus in triumph (Ep. 38) φανερῶς βουθυτοῦμεν. There 
is a pervert’s excess of devotion about him. Ammianus, a pagan born and 
bred, felt this, and called him superstitiosus magis quam sacrorum legitimus 
observator (xxv. 4, 17). 

2 On this Wilhelm Vollert’s Kaiser Julian’s religiise und philosophische 
Ueberzeugung (Giitersloh 1899) will be found most useful and suggestive. 

Socrates, E. H. iii. 1, has a long chapter devoted to Julian, and a large part of 
the book (iii.) concerns him. Similarly Sozomen’s book vy. comprises the story 
of Julian, and though not perhaps equal to Socrates, contains some important 
original matter. Theodoret (iii. 28) is a lighter weight. 

In what follows I have generally of set purpose avoided the testimony of the 
more hostile authorities, not that it is necessarily unreliable. 

3 Misopogon 357 A. 

4 Amm. Mare, xxi. 16,18. See p, 41. 

5 Or. vii. 2288 ἡ τραγικὴ κατάρα. 


ae ee 


Julian 57 


On the other side stood the gentle and loyal eunuch Mardonius, 
as sympathetic a companion for his old master’s grandson as he was 
an interpreter of Homer. Homer was their common study and 
inspiration, their daily reading, and from him they passed to Plato 
and perhaps Aristotle. Thus all that was horrible in the life of this 
sensitive, lonely orphan boy was Christian; while all that was 
helpful and delightful was drawn from Greek literature. When 
this period ended and the boy was sent to Macellum, the Christian 
clergy and the Christian Scriptures must have been equally repugnant 
to him, but he was alone (for Gallus could hardly be very congenial) 
and he allowed himself to be led along Christian paths and to make 
professions which he did not feel. It was here that he became a 
“reader.” 

Released from Macellum, he began to frequent the company of 
philosophers and rhetoricians ; and though he was prevented from 
hearing Libanius’, the prohibition did not save him from the 
influence of this man, the greatest pagan teacher of the day, and 
perhaps even inclined him to be so influenced. These men were 
dangerous companions for him, as vain as peacocks (to adapt 
Synesius’ description of Dio) and, as far as men so entirely self- 
centred could be religious, utterly pagan. 

They read the young prince quickly, they praised him and they 
encouraged him in his classical studies, they made themselves 
agreeable to him and they shewed him the beauty and the breadth 
of Neo-Platonism. Here was a faith, whose scriptures were the 
beautiful books from which he had learnt his earliest lessons with 
Mardonius; a faith which had no persecuting bishops but was 
quietly upheld by suffering scholars, men of rare genius, the 
successors of Plato himself; a faith with a range and sweep far 
beyond the Church’s, embracing all the truth and charm of the 
ancient poetry and philosophy of Hellas and all the passion and 
revelation of the religions of the East. It was a wider faith than 
Christianity, including all that was true in Judaism, of which 
Christianity was after all only a perversion and a misunderstanding. 
They would not be slow to shew him: the absurdities and contra- 
dictions of the Old Testament, the difference between the New 
Testament and Nicene Christianity, and the sublime morality of a 
Plato and a Plotinus as contrasted with Constantius and his bishops. 
Surely the truth could not be with the barbarous, dull and incon- 


1 Sievers, Libanius, p. 54. Rode, Gesch. der Reaction Kaiser Julians, p. 29. 


58 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


sistent authors of the Christian books rather than with Homer and 
Plato. 

We can see in his later writings the general trend of the 
arguments which influenced him against Christianity and the 
Scriptures and brought him nearer Neo-Platonism. But there 
was more. He was young and sentimental, and the sufferings 
of the old religion and its adherents, which, as we can read in 
Hermes Trismegistus, were keenly felt, would be emphasized and 
the hope held out that on some future day he might himself be 
the restorer of the faith, to which Constantine and Constantius 
had done such injury. He might indeed be himself the chosen 
messenger of heaven, for it was a Neo-Platonic doctrine that the 
gods stoop to give mankind a saviour and a regenerator whenever 
the divine impulse in the world is in danger of being exhausted’. 
It might be that his name would be thus added to those of Dionysus 
and Herakles. This thought, whoever may have inspired it, was 
never lost by Julian, and its fatal consequences may be seen in the 
ever-increasing arrogance and self-conceit which mark his career. 

To crown all, Julian came under the influence of “a certain 
Maximus, who at that time wore the outward look of a philosopher 
but was a magician and boasted he could foretell the future*.” In 
these words of a Christian historian we have a true description of 
the man who did most to ruin Julian’s character. Neo-Platonism 
made communion with the Supreme one of its cardinal doctrines, 
but while Plotinus and his followers pronounced this communion to 
be dependent on contemplation and a matter of consecrated intelli- 
᾿ gence, another school took the easier and more imposing route of 
theurgy. By theurgy, which Augustine says is merely a more 
splendid name for magic, by charm and ritual, by fast and offering, 
heaven could be stormed. ,The gods could be “compelled” (dvay- 
κάζειν) to speak, and more, to appear in bodily form before their 
worshipper. ‘The theurgist held secrets which enabled him to 
command the attention and the presence of the gods at will, and 
of this school Maximus was at this time the most eminent. The 
mind of Julian was prepared for him. ‘They met, and, though 

1 Synesius, de Prov. i. 10, 11. 

2 Theodoret-iii. 28, 2. Hellenism did not produce many martyrs, and an 
attempt has been made to beatify Maximus to fill the gap, but the true charge 
on which he was put to death, on which Christians also were often enough 
put to death, was magic. Magic may seem to us a harmless thing if foolish, 
but to the Roman government it generally connoted political disaffection, as it 


does in modern China. The context of Amm. Marc. xxix. 1, 42 implies that 
this was a political case. Vollert pp. 18—23 is excellent on Maximus. 


~ 


Julian 59 


circumstances for a while parted them, Julian never shook off the 
influence of this quack, but to the end of his days had for him a 
deep affection and respect, almost awe’. 

But for some ten years, however much he might fancy himself a 
new Dionysus, and whatever delight he might draw from intercourse 
with the gods’, he had to practise deceit, to hide his powers of 
commanding heaven, to cloak his own godhead. It was not a good 
training—a conscious godhead, the control of gods and constant 
hypocrisy. It weakened Julian and accentuated his natural de- 
ficiencies. ‘The marvel is that he suffered so little, and the reason 
perhaps lay in the steadying fear of Constantius, for when that was 
removed Julian rapidly lost in sense and self-control. 

It will hardly be necessary to attempt a systematic exposition of 
his theology, which is neither original nor clear, but it may be of 
interest to see what Neo-Platonism as a religion offered him for the 
daily affairs of life. He had gone to Athens already a heathen in 
heart, and thence he was summoned to Milan, to be made Caesar 
eventually, though this was not quite clear at first. ‘What floods 
of tears and what wailings I poured forth,” he writes to the 
Athenians, “how I lifted up my hands to your Acropolis, when 
this summons came to me, and besought Athena* to save her 
supplant and not forsake me, many of you saw and can testify ; 
and above all the goddess herself, how I asked that I might die 
there in Athens rather than face that journey. That the goddess 
did not betray nor forsake her suppliant, she shewed by what she 
did. For she led the way for me everywhere and set around me on 
every side angels (or messengers) from the Sun and Moon to guard 
me. And it befel thus. I went to Milan and lived in a suburb. 
Thither Eusebia used often to send to mein a kindly spirit and bid 
me boldly write for whatever I would. I wrote her a letter, or 
rather a supplication, with language of this nature, ‘So may you 


1 His public attentions to Maximus annoyed Ammianus, who sums them 
up as ostentatio intempestiva. xxii. 7, 3. The historian was perhaps more 
genuinely Roman than his hero. 

2 Or. v. 180 B εὐδαιμονίαν ἧς τὸ κεφάλαιον ἡ τῶν θεῶν γνῶσίς ἐστι. 

3 The hymn of Proclus to Athena is an interesting parallel. He prays 
Athena of the Athenian Acropolis for mental light, forgiveness of sin, freedom 
from disease, a fair gale on the voyage of life, children, wife and wealth, oratory 
and eminence (προεδρείην δ᾽ ἐνὶ λαοῖδ). Proclus, it may be added, was the 
philosopher of the fifth century a.p., who won the proud title of ὁ διάδοχος 
the successor, i.e. of Plato! The prayers of Synesius, both as a Neo-Platonist 
and as a Christian, were mainly for freedom from anxieties, from attacks of 
’ demons and from the influence of matter. He also prays that he may be 
enabled to act worthily of Sparta and Cyrene. 


60 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


have heirs, so may God give you such and such, send me home as 
soon as possible’; but then I thought it might not be safe to send 
such a letter to the palace to the Emperor’s wife. So I besought 
the gods by night to shew me whether I ought to send the document 
to the Empress. And they threatened me with a shameful death 
if I sent it. And that this is true I call all the gods to witness. 
So I refrained from sending the letter. From that night a reflexion 
came to me which it is, perhaps, worth while you should hear. 
Now, said I, I am thinking of resisting the gods, and I have thought 
I could better plan for myself than they who know all things. Yet 
human reason looking only at what is present is lucky if it can just 
avoid error for a little......but the thought of the gods looks afar, 
nay, surveys all, and gives the right bidding and does what is 
better ; for as they are authors of what is, so are they of what will 
be. They must then have knowledge to deal with the present. 
For the while, my change of mind seemed wiser on that score, but 
when I looked at the justice of the matter I said, So you are angry, 
are you? if one of your animals rob you of your use of itself, 
or run away when called—a horse, perhaps, or a sheep or a cow— 
and yet you yourself who would be a man, and not one of the 
many or the baser sort either, rob the gods of yourself and do not 
let them use you for what they would. Look to it that, in addition 
to being very foolish, you are not also sinning against the gods. 
And your courage, where is it? Absurd! You are ready to toady 
and cringe for fear of death, though you might cast all aside and 
trust the gods to do as they will and divide with them the care for 
yourself, as Socrates bade, and do what concerns you as best you 
can and leave the whole to them, hold nothing, catch at nothing, 
but accept what they offer in peace. This I considered not merely 
a safe but a fitting line of conduct for a wise man...and I obeyed 
and was made Caesar’.” (Hp. Ath. 275—7.) 

Ever thereafter he walks by faith, trusting the gods to look after 
him*, While in Gaul he wrote two panegyrics on Constantius, 


1 We may add his expression of acceptance of the Divine Will—Or. vii. 
232 νυ χρῆσθέ μοι πρὸς ὅ τι βούλεσθε. Similar views will be found in other 
Neo-Platonists, e.g. Hermes Trism. (Bipontine edition of Apuleius, vol. ii. 
p. 313) Justo homini in Dei religione et in summa pietate praesidium est. 
Deus enim tales ab omnibus tutatur malis ; and Porphyry to Marcella, esp. c. 16 
καὶ τιμήσεις μὲν ἄριστα τὸν θεὸν ὅταν τῷ θεῷ τὴν σαυτῆς διάνοιαν ὁμοιώσῃς...εἰ δὲ 
χαίρει τῷ ἀρχομένῳ τὸ ἄρχον καὶ θεὸς σοφοῦ κήδεται καὶ προνοεῖ. καὶ διὰ τοῦτο 
μακάριος ὁ σόφος ὅτι ἐπιτροπεύεται ὑπὸ θεοῦ. 

2 See his myth in Or. vii. 288 D ἡμεῖς γάρ σοι (the gods say) πανταχοῦ 
συνεσόμεθα. 


Julian 61 


which does not seem an entirely honest performance. But perhaps, 
as Vollert (p. 86) suggests, he is ironical, and he is certainly not 
exuberant, though a reader, who did not well know their relations, 
might feel more kindly to Constantius from what he says of him. 
But I refer to them because, beside doing his duty as a citizen by 
his ruler, he yields to his besetting temptation which clung to him 
through life, and preaches. In the second panegyric he says, “'The 
man, and still more the ruler, all whose hopes of happiness depend 
on God and are not blown about by other men, he has made the 
best disposal of his life.” (Or. ii. 118.) In a very undisguised 
homily he wrote in Gaul on the Mother of the Gods, he gives thanks 
that, whereas he was once in Christian darkness, he is not now’. 
When Constantius recalled Sallust, Julian consoled himself with 
another homily : “Perhaps the god,” he says, “‘will devise something 
good ; for it is not likely that a man, who has entrusted himself 
to the higher power, will be altogether neglected or left utterly 
alone.” (Or. viii. 249.) (We do not always allow enough for the 
awful loneliness of a monarch or of one in Julian’s position, yet 
it must be considered in estimating them.) “It is not right,” 
he goes on, “to praise the great men of old without imitating 
them, nor to suppose that God eagerly (προθύμως) helped them but 
will disregard those who to-day lay hold on virtue, for whose sake 
God rejoiced in them*.” 

He feels that in a very special sense he is the chosen vessel of 
heaven. In his. myth‘ in his seventh oration the conclusion of a 
very easily-read riddle is that he, the least and last of his house, is 
directly chosen by the gods to restore the old faith, and to this end 
is particularly entrusted by Zeus to the care of Helios—the Sun. 
In his letter to Themistius he accepts the réle of a Herakles or a 
Dionysus, king and prophet at once ; he feels the burden more than 
man can bear, but neither desire to avoid toil, nor quest of pleasure, 
nor love of ease, shall turn him away from the life of duty. He fears 
he may fail in his great task, but he counts on aid from the 
philosophers and above all commits everything to the gods’. 

In the moment, perhaps the supreme moment of his life, when 
the soldiers sought him to hail him Emperor, he tells us he was in 


1 Cf. Dio Chrys. de Regno, Or. i. 15. 
- 2 Or. v. 1748; so also Or, iv. 1314. 8. Compare also Or. vii. 212 8. 
4 «Dans toute cette allégorie Julien ne fait que se répéter ἃ lui-méme, Tu 
Marcellus eris.” Chassang, Hist. du Roman, p. 194. 
5 Notice in the concluding prayer to Cybele in Or. v. an entreaty that 
she will aid τῴ Ῥωμαίων Shug μάλιστα μὲν ἀποτρίψασθαι τῆς ἀθεότητος κηλῖδα. 


62 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


his chamber—“ and thence I prayed to Zeus. And as the noise 
grew louder and louder, and all was in confusion in the palace, 
I besought the god to send a token, and forthwith he sent a token 
[he quotes a word or two from the Odyssey]’ and bade obey and not 
resist the will of the army. Yet, though these signs were given 
me, I did not readily yield, but held out as long as I could, and 
would accept neither the title nor the crown. But as one man 
I could not prevail over so many, and the gods, who willed this to 
be, urged them on and worked upon my will. So about the third 
hour, some soldier tendering his bracelet, I put it on with reluctance 
and went into the palace, groaning from my heart within as the 
gods know. And yet I ought, I suppose, to have been of good 
courage and trusted to the gud who gave the token, but I was 
terribly ashamed and wanted to escape, in case I should seem not to 
have been faithful to Constantius.” (Hp. Ath. 284 c.) 

Elsewhere, in the Misopogon (352 Ὁ), which is not, like the letter 
just quoted, a manifesto of the date of his revolt, he uses the same 
language. ‘This office the gods gave me, using great violence, 
believe me, both with the giver (Constantius presumably) and the 
receiver. For neither of us seemed to wish it, neither he who gave 
me the honour or favour, or whatever you like to call it—and he 
who received it, as all the gods know, refused it in all sincerity.” 
Again, writing to his uncle Julian (Zp. 13) he says, “Why did I march 
(against Constantius)? Because the gods expressly bade me, pro- 
mising me safety if | obeyed, but if I stayed—what I would have no 
god do......So I marched, trusting all to fortune and the gods, and 
content to abide by whatever pleased their goodness.” Before he 
started he “referred all to the gods who see and hear all things, 
and then sacrificed, and the omens were favourable.” (Hp. Ath. 
286.) In this feeling of dependence on heaven and the constant 
reference of everything to the divine he is very like Constantine, his 
uncle. 

The preceding Emperors had left him precedents for the imperial 
control of religion, and when Julian found himself at last sole 


1 But he does not say what the token was—the line of Homer (Od. iii. 173) 
merely illustrates his request and its gratification. It was believed at the time 
that the philosophers by the aid of magic and theurgic rites had not unfrequently 
such manifestations. 

2 The same kind of plea, however, was made twenty years later by the 
tyrant Maximus to St Martin. (Sulp. Sev., vita Mart., 20.) se non sponte 
sumpsisse imperium sed impositam sibi a militibus divino nutu regni necessi- 
tatem defendisse et non alienam ab eo Dei voluntatem videri, penes quem tam 
incredibili eventu victoria fuisset. 


Julian 63 


Emperor, with power to carry out in act the restoration which he 
had long felt was laid upon him by Heaven, he had to consider 
practical measures for the maintenance and propagation of his 
religion. He saw at once its weakness. The old faith, which he 
re-christened Hellenism, fell short of the new both in creed and 
conduct. Three centuries of Christian experience and thought had 
built up a body of doctrine, point by point tried and proved, and 
the Christian could rest on the rock of the Church. The heathen 
had no dogma, no certainty. This philosopher said one thing, and 
that another, and every man could choose for himself and be 
uncertain, solitary, a lonely speculator, when he had chosen’. 
Hence the Church was stronger than her adversaries. ΤῸ meet 
this difficulty Julian revived Maximin Daja’s great idea of the 
Holy Catholic Church of Hellenism*. All the great philosophers 
conspired to witness to the truth; all said, if rightly understood, 
one thing*. By dint of a little confusion, a little judicious blind- 
ness, one might believe this. Thus the teachings of the Neo- 
Platonists were not mere “hypotheses” but genuine ‘“‘dogmata,” 
and rested on a solid basis (Or. iv. 148). As substitutes for the 
Father, the Son and the Holy (Ghost he set the usual group of 
Neo-Platonic conceptions, to which he linked the gods, proceeding 
from the great original τὸ ὄν, ὅλος or ὅλη ἐξ ὅλου. The Sun played 
a great part in all these speculations, “for whom and by whom are 
all things” The Jews were built into the wondrous fabric, for 
they, too, worshipped the great Supreme, though clannish narrow- 
ness made them exclude the other gods’. What were the relative 
places of these other gods, whether separate beings or merely 
different names for one being, it is a little difficult severally to 

1 Cf. Lucian’s Hermotimus, a great part of which may be read in Mr Pater’s 
English in Marius the Epicurean. A good criticism of this piece of Lucian’s 
is given by Chassang, Hist. du Roman, pp. 191—2. 

2 Busebius, Εἰ. H., ix. 4, and Lactantius, M. P. 36. 

3 Or. vi. 1854 τοὺς πρωτεύσαντας δὲ ἐν ἑκάστῃ τῶν αἱρέσεων σκοπείτω καὶ 
πάντα εὑρήσει σύμφωνα. 
ΓΞ ae the adoration of the Sun compare the hymn of Proclus (412—485 a.p.), 


εἰκὼν παγγενέταο θεοῦ, ψυχῶν ἀναγωγεῦ, 
κέκλυθι καί με κάθηρον ἁμαρτάδος αἰὲν ἁπάσης, κτὲ. 


5 Julian seems always to have been very friendly toward the Jews, and 
endeavoured at one time to rebuild the Temple for them, but the design fell 
through, baffled by the accident or miracle of fire and earthquake. See Hp. 25, 
a striking letter, and Ep. 63. 

Elsewhere (Neumann, op. cit., p. 185) he says the Jewish god is in charge 
of the Jewish race just as there ‘is καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἔθνος ἐθνάρχης τις θεός ; (p. 178) 
προσήκει τὸν τῶν Ἑβραίων θεὸν οὐχὶ δὴ παντὸς chats γενεσιουργὸν ὑπάρχειν οἴεσθαι 
καὶ κατεξουσιάζειν τῶν ὅλων. 


64 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


determine, but his system of Divinity had but a very few years 
to grow in and must not be inspected too closely, as at best it 
was but patchwork. His homilies were generally “knocked off” 
in two or perhaps three nights, “as the Muses can testify’.’ They 
ramble and digress and leave us confused. But the great thing 
was that Hellenism had a system of Divinity and that all the 
philosophers bore witness to it. If it were a little abstract, it was 
not after all for the common people*. ‘This was a fatal weakness, 
but it could hardly be helped. 

In the second place there was no doubt in Julian’s mind that his 
new Catholic Church suffered from disorder, and from the careless 
lives of its adherents. He tried to organize his priesthood and to 
improve their morals. He is most emphatic on their sacred character, 
which he means to make others respect, and which the priests would 
do well to respect themselves. He writes them charges like a 
bishop’, lecturing them on their social deportment and on their 
sacred duties. They must not frequent theatres or wine-shops, nor 
read erotic novels* or infidel books like the works of Epicurus® 
(“most of which the gods, I am glad to say, have allowed to 
perish”); they must speak and think no unseemly thing. Their 
families must be orderly and go regularly to the temples®. Their 
sacred robes are for temple use, for the honour of the gods, not to 
flaunt in the streets. Decencies must be observed in temple service’. 
The magistrate or officer within temple walls is as any other man. 
He is annoyed when men applaud him in a temple*; there they 
must adore the gods and not the Emperor. Again, the Galilaeans 
(for so he calls the Christians) beside influencing people by their 


1-Cf. Or. vi. 203 c. 

2 Or. vi. 196 D, τοὺς μὲν οὖν πολλοὺς οὐδὲν κωλύει Tals κοιναῖς ἕπεσθαι SdEats— 
a common feeling of Neo-Platonists. 

3 E.g. Ep. 49 from which I have taken some of what follows. Harnack 
(History of Dogma, tr. vol. i. p. 336) remarks that “the ethical temper 
which Neo-Platonism sought to beget and confirm was the highest and purest 
which the culture of the ancient world produced.” 

4 Rohde, der gr. Roman, p. 349, calls attention to this prohibition as a 
striking proof of the wide and general popularity of such novels in Julian’s day. 

5 Epicurus and his school were hated by all the adherents of the pagan 
revival from the days of Lucian. Cf. Macrobius, Comm. i. 2,3. Lucian’s sham 
prophet Alexander had coupled them with the Christians, Alex. 38. 

6 He was highly annoyed to find that the wives and families of some of his 
priests preferred the churches. Sozomen vy. 16. 

7 In Ep. 56 he directs that attention be paid to sacred music in Alexandria, 
THs ἱερᾶς ἐπιμεληθῆναι μουσικῆς, and that choir boys of good birth (εὖ γεγονότες) 
be chosen for their voices—éx φωνῆς καταλεγέσθωσαν, trained and maintained 
at the public charges. 

8 Ep. 64. 


Julian 65 


sober lives gain great influence by their hospitality to the poor and 
the wayfarer, and to counteract this Julian ordains great guest- 
houses and provision for their maintenance, that Hellenism, too, 
may win men by its charities. Above all things he preaches holiness. 
All service done in holiness to the gods is alike acceptable’. 

One thing was wanting. When this life is done, the Christian 
Church offers a sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection. 
What had the Catholic Church of Hellenism to bid against this ? 
Neo-Platonism, as we can see in Macrobius, in Hermes and else- 
where, inclined to a belief in reward and punishment beyond the 
grave. Even Plotinus holds that a man’s position in the next life 
is determined by what he has reached in this. Julian no doubt 
went with his teachers here as elsewhere, but he does not speak so 
clearly of the other life as we might have expected of him. In one 
place (Fragm. Epist. 300) he writes hopefully: ‘Consider the 
goodness of God, who says he rejoices as much in the mind of the 
godly as in purest Olympus. Surely we may expect that he (πάντως 
ἡμῖν οὗτος) will bring up from darkness and Tartarus the souls of us 
who draw near to him in godliness? For he knows them also who 
are shut up in Tartarus, for even that is not outside the realm of 
the gods, but he promises to the godly Olympus instead of Tartarus.” 
In another place (Or. iv. 136 4, B) he says that the souls of those 
who have lived well and righteously will go upward to Serapis— 
not the dread Serapis of the myths, but the kind and gentle god 
_ who sets the souls utterly free from becoming or birth (γενέσεως), 
and does not, when once they are free, nail them down (προσηλοῖ) 
to other bodies by way of punishment, but bears them upward and 
brings them into the intelligible world—the region next to Absolute 
Being, according to the Neo-Platonists. 

There is however another passage, where one feels it odd that he 
says nothing of all this. In Letter 37 he writes to a friend to say 
he wept to hear of the death of the friend’s wife, but here is 
nepenthes for him as good as Helen’s. Democritus of Abdera told 
King Darius, who was sorrowing for his queen, that he could raise 
her from the dead, if he would write on her grave the names of three 
that never were in mourning. “But if you cannot, why weep as if 
you alone know such a sorrow?” The same story, or one very like 
it, is told of Buddha, but its comfort is a little cold. 


1 Some of his ideas are curious: 6.9. funerals by day dishonour the Sun 
(Ep. 77) eis ὃν πάντα καὶ ἐξ οὗ πάντα. 


G. 9 


66 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Julian’s relations with the Christian Church remain to be 
discussed’. ΤῸ an erring priest he wrote (Zp. 62) that he would 
not curse him, as he does not think it right, for he remarks that 
the gods never do it. It was only consistent with such a temper 
not.to persecute, and he sedulously maintained that he did not and 
would not. But, says Ammianus*, on the bench he sometimes 
asked litigants their religion, though it never affected his decisions. 
While all creeds were lawful, he felt it only right to give higher 
honour to the true faith and its adherents. Any other course 
would be dishonouring to the gods*. But, of course, this was not 
persecution. When he recalled the exiled bishops, when he made 
the Catholic restore Novatian churches, when he coquetted with 
Donatists, he was only carrying out a liberal measure of toleration. 
No doubt, but English Nonconformists have never felt specially 
indebted to James II. Heathen men said Julian recalled the exiles 
to kindle anew the flames of discord in the Churches*. But it was 
bad policy. Nicene and Arian were at least unanimous in opposing 
a heathen. Moreover when the two parties were thus left on an 
equal footing, and the Nicenes had their leaders again, the Nicene 
party gained ground steadily, and they after all were the more 
serious opponents®. When he forced bishops to rebuild heathen 
temples they had destroyed, they called out on persecution ; they, 
too, had consciences and might destroy but could not build up 
heathenism. So far, perhaps, no one could say Julian was strictly — 
unjust. But when the mob of Alexandria rose and slew George the 
bishop, all he did was to write a letter of gentle rebuke—they ought 
not to have broken the law; they should have trusted to him and 
justice; but for Serapis’ sake and his uncle Julian’s he would 
forgive them (Zp. 10). Indeed he seems to have been less anxious 
that no more bishops should be killed than that none of George’s 
books should be lost (Zpp. 9, 36). When bishop Titus of Bostra*® 
wrote to inform him of his efforts and his clergy’s to preserve the 
peace, he wrote to the people of Bostra and put an unpleasant 


1 In addition to the books dealing specifically with this (to which I have 
already referred) Sievers, Leben des Libanius, ο. xi., may be consulted. 

2 Amm. Mare. xxii. 10, 2. 

3 Ep. 7 προτιμᾶσθαι μέντοι τοὺς θεοσεβεῖς καὶ πάνυ φημὶ δεῖν. 

4 Amm. Mare. xxii. 5, 4 is very explicit about this. 

5 See Gwatkin’s Studies in Arianism, ch. vi. p. 201 (first edition). I am 
afraid I do not take so high a view of Julian as my former teacher does, 
though I once inclined to take a higher, 

6 Famous otherwise as the author of three books against Mani—extant 
partly in Greek and partly or wholly in Syriac. 


Julian 67 


construction on the bishop’s letter, and invited them to rid them- 
selves of him. (Hp. 52, August 362.) The Emesenes burnt the 
tombs of the Christians, and were held up in consequence as an 
example to easy-going Antioch (Misopogon, 357 ¢). But of all men 
Julian hated Athanasius most, the man who seemed, as Vollert says, 
to unite in himself all the force of Christendom. The bishop in 
virtue of the decree of recall had returned to his see of Alexandria. 
Julian wrote to the Alexandrians in March, 362, to say he had 
never meant to recall the bishops to their sees; it was enough for 
them not to be in exile; Athanasius, who has been banished by so 
many decrees of so many Emperors, might have had the decency to 
wait for one restoring him to his so-called episcopal throne before 
boldly claiming it to the annoyance of pious Alexandrians ; he must 
now depart (Hp. 26). When, instead of going into exile, Athanasius 
dared to baptize some Greek ladies, Julian wrote in October of the 
same year peremptorily ordering his removal (Hp. 6). A month or 
so later he had to write again, for he had miscalculated Athanasius’ 
influence in Alexandria. He is surprised and shocked at the 
Alexandrians, but they may trust him, for he knows all about 
Christianity after twenty years of it, and now he has been following 
the gods twelve years. Still, if they will not be converted, there are 
other possible bishops beside Athanasius, whom he banishes from 
the whole of Egypt (Zp. 51)'. The great bishop was not concerned. 
“Tt is but a little cloud and will pass,” he said’, and went into 
hiding in Alexandria itself, and in less than a year the little cloud 
had passed away and he was free again. 

Gregory of Nazianzus said Julian veiled his persecution under a 
show of reasonableness*®, and it may be held that nothing very 
terrible has been mentioned as yet. Perhaps it was not going too 
far when he cancelled all the immunities and exemptions granted to 
the clergy by Constantine and Constantius, though if he did (as 
alleged*) compel widows and virgins to refund grants made to them 
in past years, he would seem to have been a little too exacting. 
But a zealot, whose principle is the equality of all sects and the 
preference of one, stands in slippery places. The Syrian historian 
is highly indignant about this robbing of the Churches. Western 
indignation was greater on another score, as we shall see. The 


1 He concludes with a flout at Athanasius’ person—pydé ἀνήρ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνθρω- 
πίσκος evre\7js—which, if a little unnecessary, still reveals one side of his 
own character. 

5 Sozomen, v. 15, 3. 

3 x. p. 166: ap. Sievers, op. cit., p. 118. 4 Sozomen, v. 5. 


5—2 


68 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


great old centre of Christianity in Syria was Edessa, and the Arian 
Church there, by its attack on the Valentinians, gave Julian an 
opportunity which he gladly seized. He confiscated the Church 
property by an edict, assigning as one of his grounds “ Blessed 
are ye poor, for yours is the kingdom of heaven’.” This may have 
been rough and ready justice, but the next step to which I refer was 
oppression of a most irritating kind. 

It is a strange thing, perhaps, in view of the general carelessness 
about education, that a government has only to incur suspicion of 
playing with it in the interests of one or another religion to arouse 
ill-will. Of all acts passed to worry.the English Nonconformists, 
few angered and alarmed them so much as that of Queen Anne’s 
reign, which checked their educational freedom. In the same way 
Julian roused the Church to fury through the western world by a 
rescript forbidding to Christians the teaching of ancient literature. 
It was in more ways than one an unhappy thing for his new 
Catholic Church that the real Catholic Church was devoted to 
the old literature. In the east Christians read Homer and Plato, 
and in the west they steeped themselves in Virgil and Cicero, and 
in both east and west they were a match for the heathen in all 
things pertaining to a liberal education, more than a match, for 
there is a marked difference in general between heathen and 
Christian writing of the day. This was unfortunate for Julian, 
for it disproved one of his theories—that the Galilaeans were 
illiterate and barbarous and divorced from that ancient world 
which meant so much to all educated people. If his theory had 
been right, his policy was absurd and unnecessary; but he bore 
witness against himself, that Christians were not without a share 
in the old culture. He realized in fact that they valued it so 
highly that they would not give it up. Accordingly he enacted? 
in June 362 that whereas a man cannot teach aright what he 
believes to be wrong, and whereas it is highly desirable that 
those who teach the young should be honest men, and it is 
incompatible with honesty for a Christian to expound the poets, 
orators and historians of old, who held themselves (Thucydides* 


1 Ep. 43 ἵν᾽ els τὴν βασιλείαν τῶν οὐρανῶν εὐοδώτερον πορευθῶσι. 

5. See Ep. 42. Without citing Christian testimony, it is enough to quote 
the opinion of an honourable heathen, Ammianus, who pronounces this 
decree obruendum perenni silentio (xxii. 10, 7). Comparetti, Vergil in the Middle 
Ages (tr.), p. 80, gives a good account of this decree, its meaning and results. 

3 On the other hand, Dean Stanley (Eastern Church, Lect. i. p. 123) says, 
**Along the porticos of Eastern Churches are to be seen portrayed on the 


Ss Yh 


eo 


Julian 69 


among them, it seems) sacred to the gods, while he himself believes 
in no gods, henceforth it is forbidden to Christians to teach ancient 
literature, unless they first prove in deed their honesty and piety by 
sacrificing to the gods. This edict was to produce one or both of 
two results, either young Christians must grow up without classical 
education, which was not likely to be their choice, or they must go 
to the schools of heathen, who would if they did their duty give 
them a bias toward Hellenism. Probably Julian was thinking of 
his own youthful studies, but heathen teachers were not all alike 
and were not in general propagandists. 

The immediate result of the decree was that some of the 
most famous teachers of the day threw up their profession. Then 
came a strange phenomenon’. A father and son, both called 
Apollinaris, set to work and made a new Homer out of the 
Pentateuch, and a Plato out of the Gospels. It has been suggested 
that the Christian people admired these works, but from the 
synchronism of their disappearance with the death of Julian it 
seems that Socrates, the most admirable of Church historians, 
is representing the common view when he applauds them rather 
as products of enthusiasm than as literature. If the Apollinares 
failed of fame as authors, the younger, the Gospel Platonist, 
made his mark in Church History as an independent thinker, 
though the Church did not finally accept his views. Another 
result of this decree was that Valentinian and Valens two years 
later began anti-pagan legislation with an edict forbidding the 
performance by night of heathen rites and sacrifices. Julian had 
made the declaration of war and Christian Emperors accepted it. 
In yet another way the decree had a great effect, for it emphasized 
the distinction between Christianity and pagan philosophy, and 
while, as Prof. Gwatkin? says, this told heavily against Arianism 
at once, it was not in the long run a good thing for the Church 
to doubt the value of ancient wisdom and poetry. “In the 
triumph of Christianity,’ writes a recent biographer of Julian’®, 
“he foresaw the Dark Ages.” ‘This is a most extravagant state- 


walls the figures of Homer, Solon, Thucydides, Pythagoras and Plato, as 
pioneers preparing the way for Christianity.” We may wonder which character 
would have most surprised Thucydides. 

1 Socrates, iii. 16, 1. 

2 Studies in Arianism, p. 199. 

3 See Julian the Philosopher (p. 174), in the Heroes of the Nations Series, a 
careful work but marred by the writer’s admiration for Julian and a mis 
understanding of his opponents. It would perhaps hardly be going too far to 
call the book an apology for Julian. 


70 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


ment, but, if Christianity and the “Dark Ages” are connected at 
all, it is in some measure the result of this prescient pagan’s decree. 
Christianity is really no more responsible for the “Dark Ages” 
than is Neo-Platonism. 

Such, then, was Julian’s religious policy, but what was its 
success? Was society with him? It might be expected that the 
hour for a reaction had come, and there were certainly a good many 
heathen left. The philosophers, whose spirit he had caught, and 
the nobility of the city of Rome, with whom he had no relations, 
were ready to welcome a return to the old ways. But Julian was 
at heart a Greek, leaning eastwards, and had not much support in 
Italy, while the philosophers, after all, were out of touch with the 
world at large. It must be confessed that the reaction was not 
very spontaneous ; it was an attempt te galvanize a revival by the 
fiat of a ruler, and though there was an appearance of life about it, 
it was not living. Julian has to admit (Hp. 49) that Hellenism 
does not yet thrive as he would wish, but the fault does not 
lie with the gods, but with their worshippers. The heathen were 
past revival. They might resent being forced into the background 
by the Christians, but they only wished to live in quiet as they 
pleased. ‘They had no mind for martyrdom, and almost as little for 
Julian’s violent revivalism. They would not be regular in attendance 
at temples, they did not care to sacrifice very much, and in short 
they would make no efforts for their religion. The women, as 
Julian himself complained, were against him (MMisop. 363 4). The 
mob enjoyed breaking Christian heads’, and creatures of the court 
affected conversion and a quickened life, but Julian was hardly 
pleased with either. He had practically no converts from among 
the Christians—none of any weight. Hecebolius, a rhetorician, 
came over, to return to the Church promptly on Julian’s death. A 
bishop, Pegasius, who seems to have been a pagan at heart under 
his episcopal robes, now avowed his faith or unfaith?. 

Julian had a measure of support in the army, which had a 
large non-Roman element, which was not Christian*, but such 
officers as Jovian and Valentinian were probably not alone in being 
loyal to the Christian faith. In fact, from whatever point of view, 


1 Theodoret (iii. 6) gives a lively picture of heathen processions—‘“ Cory- 
banting ” through the streets (Avrrévres καὶ κορυβαντιῶντες) and abusing the 
saints. He adds the information that they got as good as they gave, without ~ 
much advantage to public order. 

2 See Ep. 78, a very interesting letter, for this curious person. 

3 Sievers, Libanius, ch. xi. p. 109. 


_ 


Julian 71 


the revival was a failure from the beginning, and the final proof of 
this was given by its complete collapse on Julian’s death. 

Julian’s reign was short (361-363), and the most interesting 
part of its history is the period he spent at Antioch’. He reached 
there in 362, and personally conducted his pagan campaign. There 
was a considerable number of pagans in the city, but, though he 
was well received and made bids for their good-will, the pleasure- 
loving populace was no more to be influenced by Julian’s exhorta- 
tions to a godly, righteous and sober life than by Chrysostom’s 
twenty years later. His attempt to transform Daphne from a 
pleasure resort to a shrine again was a ludicrous miscarriage. A 
martyr, Babylas, had been buried there by none other than the 
Emperor's own brother, Gallus?, and before a martyr Apollo was 
mute. Julian ordered the “dead body*” to be removed, and it was 
removed by a great procession singing, “‘Confounded be all they 
that serve graven images*.” One of the singers was arrested and 
tortured, so angry was Julian, but only one; for his constancy 
shewed what might be expected from others, and Julian resolved to 
“ grudge the honour of martyrdom’.” 

His failure as a revivalist was supplemented in Antioch by his 
blunders as an economist®. He was massing forces there and prices 
rose in consequence. The mob however did not understand how 
prices were so high, and greeted the Emperor with the cry, “ Every- 
thing plentiful, everything dear.” Anxious to win applause, for 
his admirer Ammianus says he ran too much after cheap glory’, he 
summoned the leading citizens and gave them three months to find 
a remedy. When none was forthcoming, he lowered the price of 
grain by an edict, which had the surprising effect of driving it out 

1 See Amm. Mare. xxi. 9, 4. Videre properans Antiochiam orientis apicem 
pulcrum (here speaks the Antiochene)...in speciem alicujus numinis votis 
excipitur publicis, miratus voces multitudinis magnae, salutare sidus illuxisse 
eois partibus adclamantis. But was it a good omen that he should arrive 
just when the women were wailing for Adonis? Claudian on the Antiochenes, 
In Rufin. ii. 34, adsuetumque choris et laeta plebe canorum...imbellem...Orontem. 

2 Sozomen, v. 19. 

3 Misopogon, 361 8. 

_ 4 Theodoret, iii. 10. 

5 Eutropius (a heathen) says Julian was religionis Christianae nimius 
insectator perinde tamen ut cruore abstineret (x. 16, 3). This is a considerable 
admission for a writer who never elsewhere mentions Christianity, not even 
in writing of Constantine. Whether by Julian’s orders or not, blood seems to 
have been shed none the less. 

6 For this story see Misopogon, 368 c; Amm. Marc. xxii. 14, 1; Soer. 
iii. 17, 2; Soz. v. 19, 1 

7 Amm, Mare. xxii. 14, 1 popularitatis amore; xxii. 7, 1 nimius captator 
inanis gloriae. 


4 
% 


72 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


of the market. Then he fetched grain himself from the Imperial 
granaries and sold it at his own price, and the dealers reappeared as 
buyers. Altogether he effected nothing but the irritation of every 
class, and jokes about making ropes of his beard were bandied round 
the city’. He had made himself ridiculous at once with his corn 
laws, his sacrifices, his mob of court philosophers (instead of 
Constantius’ court bishops), his homilies and his pietism. He was 
not always very tactful®, he lacked ballast, and his virtues won 
him as much ill-will as his foibles. With the best intentions, the 
purest motives, and the highest character, he had made Antioch 
thoroughly hostile, and, the world over, his reformation was producing 
disorder and ill-will. He now wrote a “satire” on Antioch, which 
he called The Beard-Hater (Misopogon), perhaps as undignified a 
production as was ever penned by a‘monarch®. Under cover of 
shewing up his own faults, he lets out all his spleen at the Antio- 
chenes, till one is really sorry to see the man giving way to such 
littleness. The final jest of Antioch was superb. Felix, an officer 
of high rank, and Julian, the Emperor’s uncle, had recently died, 
and the populace went about shouting Melia Julianus Augustus*— 
a double entendre, which must have been doubly exasperating for 
being strictly loyal. Julian finally left the city, vowing he would 
never see them again—a vow which was grimly fulfilled—and taking 
a cruel revenge on his enemies by setting over them a governor well 
known to be oppressive*. 

Julian was now once more in the camp, where his earliest 
successes had been won, and where he was less likely to be brought 
into humiliating conflicts. He meant to end the long-standing 
Persian quarrel which Constantius had left unsettled. That the 
expedition had any close connexion with his pagan reformation, 

1 Amm. Mare. xxii. 14, 2, gives some other jokes—none very brilliant. 
Julian, it seems, was a ‘‘ monkey-face,” with a goat’s beard and the walk of 
Otus and Ephialtes. 

3 He confesses to being λαλίστερος. Ep. 68. 

3 Socrates, iii. 58, complains not unjustly τὸ δὲ διασύρειν ἢ σκώπτειν οὐκέτι 
φιλοσόφου ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ βασιλέως. Ammianus, an Antiochene, is not at all 
pleased with this production of his hero. (xxii, 14, 2.) A keen, almost acrid, 
humour ran in the family, Constantine being noted for his εἰρωνεία, ete. 
(Socr. i. 9.) The best instance of Constantine’s humour is his retort to the 
Novatian bishop that, if he was so exclusive, he had better take a ladder and 
go to heaven by himself. 

4 Amm. Mare. xxiii. 1, 4. 

5 Ammianus (xxiii, 2, 3) actually says Julian remarked non illum meruisse 
sed Antiochensibus avaris et contumeliosis hujus modi judicem convenire. On 
any other authority the story might seem doubtful. Libanius had a great 


deal to do to keep this man’s energies for paganism within moderately decent 
bounds. See Sievers, Libanius, pp. 118—121. 


Julian : 78 


as has been suggested’, is, I think, not at all certain. His paganism 
seems to have been a hindrance to him here, in shaking the loyalty 
of the Christian Armenians’. 

Julian set out on a punitive expedition. One or two letters 
written by the way survive—one telling of a little address on 
Hellenism he gave at Beroea to the city council, convincing, he 
regretfully adds, but very few, and they were converted already 
(Ep. 27). If the expedition was not very richly blessed with 
triumphs for Hellenism, it was in other ways more of a success’. 
The Persians were thoroughly cowed and their Jand laid waste, till 
an unfortunate act of rashness altered the look of things. When he 
had gone as far as he meant and was outside Ctesiphon, the capital, 
Julian was induced to believe that the fleet of vessels which had 
escorted him down the Euphrates was of no further use, and, to 
avoid its falling into Persian hands, he gave the fatal order to burn 
the ships, only to realize at once, but too late to save them, that it 
was a blunder. Even so the retreat might have been free from 
disaster but for an accident. The Persian cavalry harassed the 
army on its march, and in one of the frequent skirmishes Julian 
was fatally wounded. He was carried to his tent, and there he 
died after some final words to the friends about him*. He surveyed 
the principles that had guided him in life, care for his subjects’ 
good and trust in the wisdom of Providence. He had sought peace, 
but when duty called to war he had gone to war, though he had 
long well known he was “to die by iron.” His life had been 
innocent, his conscience was at rest, he had only thanks to the 
eternal divinity for the manner of his departure. So he died, and 
the Empire had immediate cause to regret his death in the shameful 
surrender of Jovian to the Persians. For himself his early death 
was probably a good thing, for had he returned victorious, he must 
inevitably have been carried into a war without truce against 
Christianity, and have stained his name with tyranny and perse- 
cution. 

As I have already quoted passages at length from his writings, a 
word or two will suffice for them in conclusion. They reflect his 
personality in a striking way. His style is very fairly good. The 


1 Vollert, op. cit., p. 90. 

2 See Gwatkin, Studies in Arianism, pp. 209, 210, on the Persian War— 
an interesting account of it. 

3 Hodgkin, Italy and her Invaders, vol. ii. p. 538. 

4 Amm. Mare, xxy. 3, 15. 


74 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


effect is marred, however, by a tendency to digression and after- 
thought, and an unnecessary concern for side issues’. It was not 
to be expected that he could help being didactic ; he had a mission, 
and in season, and sometimes out of season, he is pleading and 
exhorting. His three panegyrics, two on Constantius, the third on 
Eusebia, roam off into discussions on education, true kingliness, 
books and so forth. His other five so-called orations are really 
treatises. Two are theological, dealing with the Sun and the 
Mother of the Gods, but far from clear. Of the other three, which 
are concerned with morals, two deal with the Cynics and are a little 
wearisome in their fault-finding. The eighth is addressed to himself 
—a series of reflections to console him for the loss of Sallust. 

His letters fall into two classes, those of the elaborate polite type 
consisting οὗ a quotation, a compliment, and perhaps an invitation, 
many of them addressed to philosophers, and those of a practical 
character, some of them edicts, some letters on religious thought 
and life, some friendly and intimate. Three long letters stand 
apart, those to Themistius and the Athenians, and one which is 
fragmentary, and these shew him at his best and most serious. 
They give the clearest picture of his manliness, his purity and piety 
—of the intense earnestness and dutifulness of his nature. 

His elaborate work against Christianity has been pieced together 
by Neumann so far as possible from the citations of Cyril, who 
wrote a book to refute it, as he found it did harm. Like the 
Manichaeans he emphasized the readily assailable parts of the 
Old Testament—in what language did the serpent speak with 
Eve? If all the earth had been made into bricks, could the tower 
of Babel have been a success? Why did Jehovah, if the Universal 
God, choose the Jews and neglect the Greeks? What is good in 
Moses’ law is common to all peoples. Jehovah’s character as “a 
jealous God” and ‘‘an angry God” is really unworthy. The effect 
of the Christian books is not (like that of Greek literature) to make 
men better—it makes them no better than slaves. Old Testament 
monotheism cannot be reconciled with the Christian account of 
Christ. Jvhn first called Jesus God, when he found a mass of 
converts in Greek and Italian cities worshipping the tombs of 
Peter and Paul. Since then “many fresh corpses have been added 
to the old one,” and so forth. The difficulties he raised were after 


1 Cyril (Neumann, p. 195) complains of his πλατὺ διηγημάτων πέλαγο---- 
a very fair criticism. 


Julian 75 


all obvious, and were felt already. The Church however explained 
many of them by the allegorical method, which it seems was legiti- 
mate enough for Porphyry. ‘This was no doubt an unscientific 
and unsatisfactory treatment of Scripture, but it had this merit 
that it enabled the Church to reach a deeper truth and one more 
vital than the literal meaning gave ; to escape an obvious interpre- 
tation involving an outgrown position; and to gain for Scripture a 
higher value in a spiritual significance, which, if it did not strictly 
answer to the view of the original writers, at least corresponded 
with Christian experience. Thus Julian’s polemic was really beside 
the mark. Though he says he knew Christianity, he really did not 
know it, and the Christians were right in their allegation that he 
did not understand. 

Two other books remain, the Misopogon and The Caesars. Of 
the former I have spoken. The latter is humorous with an 
underlying seriousness. There is a banquet of the gods at which 
the Caesars are in turn subjected to criticism, and a select few 
are bidden set forth their ideals. While Julius and Constantine 
might, perhaps, complain of their treatment (the latter particularly, 
as self-indulgence does not seem to have been his aim’), Marcus 
Aurelius carries the day, for his theory of life was “the imitation of 
the gods.” The piece concludes with a burlesque view of Christian 
baptism. Constantine rejected by the gods turns to Luxury, who 
welcomes him, clothes him with fine robes and takes him to 
Profligacy, and “there he found Jesus. proclaiming to all, ‘ Whoever 
is a seducer, whoever is a murderer, whoever is accurst and filthy, 
let him come boldly ; for I will make him clean at once by washing 
him in this water; and if _he again fall into the same state, I will 
grant to him that, by beating his breast and smiting his head, he 
may be cleansed’.” So to Jesus Constantine goes, but the avenging 
demons overtake him, while Julian is made the special child and 
charge of Mithras the Sun-God. I need not, I think, repeat that 
Julian did not understand Christianity. As for the rest, let me 
quote M. Chassang :—“'T'he book of the Caesars is a work of great 


1 Julian is always unfair to Constantine, cf. Or. vii. 227c. Though 
Constantine’s conduct was not above reproach, his conscience on the question 
of chastity was keener than might fairly have been expected, and he at least 
contributed to the growth of that tradition of verecundia imperialis which 
Ammianus records. See Gwatkin, Studies in Arianism, p. 106, for a wise and 
sympathetic judgment on him; also Seeck, Untergang der Ant. Welt?, i. pp. 
65—67. In short, Constantine displays, though with fluctuations, a gradual 
development of high character from his accession to empire onwards through 
life ; Julian on the other hand degenerated. 


76 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


originality. Yet is there not more pride than sureness, more caprice 
than justice, in this general reprobation of his predecessors? And 
when we reflect that Marcus Aurelius alone is excepted, are we 
not led to suppose that Julian a fortiori excepts himself, and that, 
in making those who went before him thus stand their trial, he 
means to glorify himself at their expense’ ?” 

The general effect of Julian’s life was to prove how dead a thing 
heathenism was. His Hellenism was not the old religion, it was a 
blend of various philosophies with some admixture of Christianity 
and more of magic. It testified at once against Greek philosophy, 
Greek religion and Greek morals. The philosophy led from nowhere 
to nowhere and was a confusion of everything, with nothing in the long 
run to rest a life on. The religion was worse, a vacuous and external 
thing of ritual, trance and superstition: ‘The morals were, in spite 
of Neo-Platonism, essentially uninspired. To reinforce all, Julian 
borrowed from the faith he hated—borrowed partly consciously, as 
when he conceived of the Catholic Church of Hellenism, but largely . 
unconsciously, and there, perhaps, he shews more conspicuously the 
strength of the Church. Of all attempts made by Roman Emperors 
to crush the Church, his was the best conceived—he alone realizing 
that to crush without offering an alternative was impossible, and 
the alternative he did offer was the best then conceivable. He saw, 
as others had not seen, that it would be easier and more satisfactory 
to convince than to force men, and though events seemed trending 
to the use of more force as time went on, the fact remains to his 
credit that he at all events began by repudiating it. His life was a 
failure, and for this his religion is to blame. He had not a strong 
nature, and his religion made him weaker in the same measure as it 
inflamed his conceit by teaching him to fancy himself a god. But 
even this is of minor importance. He took the wrong way, and 
turning back to a creed and a philosophy outworn he suffered the 
fate of all who, from whatever cause, prefer a lower to a higher 
truth. 


1 Chassang, Hist. du Roman, p. 197. 


CHAPTER IV 


QUINTUS OF SMYRNA 


My songs are now of the sunset ; 
Their brows are touched with light, 
But their feet are lost in the shadows 
And wet with the dews of night. 
HENLEY 


Nor the least remarkable figure in the history of Greek literature 
is Quintus of Smyrna. Not that he is in any great sense of the 
word a poet; not that he has any special gifts of insight and 
interpretation, of narrative or style; but that such a work as his 
should be produced at such a time must ever remain a marvel. 
The Iliad and the Odyssey belong to the dawn of Greek letters ; 
the poem of Quintus was written to complete the story of the [liad 
and to connect it with the Odyssey, and it was written a thousand 
years or more after them. The age of Homer, if the name may 
be used with perhaps something of a collective sense, may be re- 
constructed from his poems. ‘The age of Quintus was removed from 
it in every aspect of man’s life that can be affected by progress. It 
would be difficult to say whether in politics or in economics, in 
social, intellectual or religious life, the gulf between the two poets is 
widest. There had intervened thirty generations of mankind, who 
had seen the rise and fall of the Empires of Athens, of Alexander, 
and of the Ptolemies, the growth and decline of the Roman Republic, 
the development of the Roman Empire from the veiled monarchy of 
Augustus to the open sultanism of Diocletian ; and associated with 
these political changes were the names of poets and philosophers, 
who had summed and had interpreted in the literatures of Athens, 
of Alexandria and of Rome the life and thought of the ages. From 
the vivid anthropomorphism of Homer men had climbed to concep- 
tions of loftier and purer deity, till the Zeus and Athena of the poet 


78 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


were names outworn, and if they still survived they served but to 
cloak philosophical abstractions beyond the reach and outside the 
needs of the men who first enjoyed the Homeric poems. Strange 
and barbarous gods from Egypt and Persia had supplanted the gods 
of Greece and Italy with those who were not philosophers. And 
slowly Zeus and Athena had joined forces with Isis and Mithras, 
enlisting philosopher and devotee, to do battle with another faith, 
which had taught men to look death in the face and had risen by 
being cut down to rule the world. The labarum’ with its cross and 
monogram had proclaimed for half a century to Roman, Persian and 
German that the world was Christian, when Quintus wrote his poem 
to link the Iliad to the Odyssey. Constantinople had been for 
almost as long the seat of the Roman government, when he gave 
the world the rest of the story of Troy. And here is the marvel of 
his work. There is scarcely a hint that the world has moved since 
Homer sang. One allusion is made, and one only, to history, and 
apart from this, which is introduced as a prophecy, there are but 
two or three slight anachronisms which betray a society later than 
‘Homer’s. With the literature of the intervening ages, it has been 
maintained with much show of reason that Quintus was unac- 
quainted, but for his study of Hesiod and Apollonius Rhodius. 
And it was Quintus’ endeavour to let it appear that in thought 
and faith he stood where Homer had stood, though here it was 
harder to deceive posterity, and we shall find evidence against him 
in the confusion of his ideas. Yet the illusion is wonderfully 
successful, and so far as form and fashion are concerned, the work 
of Quintus might at times pass for that of Homer himself. But, 
however Homeric, Quintus is not Homer, and as we read we realize 
the feeling of the Trojan hero, who sought his wife and found, not 
herself, but 


infeliz simulacrum atque ipsius umbra Creusae. 


Still there is an interest, though it may not be a keen one, in the 
study of this pale Homer of the fourth century. 

Cardinal Bessarion first discovered Quintus in the monastery 
of St Nicholas near Otranto, and because this town, once called 
Hydruntum, lay in the aneient Calabria, the poet long bore the 
surname Calaber, a title as suitable, says his editor Tychsen, as 
Sangallensis would be for Quintilian in view of the fact that he was 


1 Prud, c. Symm. i. 487 Christus purpureum gemmanti textus in auro Signabat 
labarum. The institution of this change is told by Lactantius, M. P. 44. 


———  -----Σ' 


Quintus of Smyrna 79 


first found by Poggio at St Gall. The manuscript bore no name 
but Quintus, and there has been much speculation to account for 
it. One scholar maintained it was rather the name of the owner of 
the manuscript than that of the author of the poem. Another would 
have corrected Cointos to Corintos, in order to attribute the author- 
ship to a grammarian Corinthos, who unfortunately proved to have 
lived in the twelfth century a.D., when such work would have been 
flatly impossible. Then who was Quintus? Was he Aemilius 
Macer, who according to Ovid filled in what Homer left out? or 
was he Alcibiades? or perhaps Quintus Ennius, the favourite of 
Cicero’? Strange as it may seem, no one has suggested Quintus 
Cicero, a most energetic and productive poet, nor the greatest 
Quintus of them all, who certainly tells us he thought of writing 
in Greek and would have written but for the miraculous intervention 
of Quirinus—why not as well then as any, Quintus of Venusia? 
Time has however settled the question, and a number of references 
and quotations in later grammarians make it clear that his name 
was Quintus and give no indication that he ever had another. And 
as he takes pains to inform us himself, whether he means it or not, 
that Smyrna was the home of his youth, he is by common agreement 
styled Quintus of Smyrna. 

It will readily be supposed that when his name is a matter of 
discussion, many questions may be raised about the man himself, 
the answers to which must be largely conjectural. As regards his 
date all serious critics are very much at one, some putting it toward 
the beginning of the fifth century, most however toward the end of 
the fourth and roughly about the time of the Emperor Julian. The 
evidence for this is almost entirely internal, and the conclusion rests 
on the relations of his versification to that of Nonnus and his school, 
on the confused character of his paganism and on one or two faint 
references to the contemporary world. Arguments dealing with 
style have necessarily a subjective element about them, and the 
rather large mass of Epic poetry and other poetry in hexameters 
produced under the late Roman Empire is little studied to-day. 
Yet on the whole it seems agreed that Quintus is earlier than 
Nonnus, and this is an aid towards fixing his date. He has one 
clear reference to the Roman Empire, which might refer almost 
equally well to any Imperial family from Julius to Julian. 

The scene is that of the fall of Troy, and Aeneas, like a crafty 


1 A new sense for Persius vi. 10: cor jubet hoc Enni postquam destertuit esse 
Maeonides Quintus. 


80 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


steersman taking to the boat when the ship is doomed, is leaving 
Troy under his mother’s guidance. He is remarked by the Greek 
seer Calchas, who bids the Greeks to spare him, “for it is decreed 
by the glorious counsel of the gods that from the Xanthus he shall 
come to the Tiber’s broad waters and build an holy city, famous 
with posterity, and himself shall reign over mortals of many seeds, 
and his race after him shall be kings to the rising and to the setting 
of the tireless sun; yea, and it is granted to him to be with the 
immortals, because he is the son of Aphrodite of the glorious locks. 
...So spake Calchas and the Greeks obeyed and looked upon Aeneas 
as a god, all of them; and he gat him quickly from his city, whither 
his feet bore him in his haste’.” This is not Virgil’s story, nor 
Homer’s, and I am sure Quintus never learnt of Juppiter Indiges 
from Livy, but he clearly implies a well-established Empire. 

A simile from the arena, not unlike one of Claudian’s, has been 
used to give a nearer date. The two sons of Atreus find themselves 
surrounded, “‘and, hemmed in on every side, they turned this way 
and that, even as boars or lions in the enclosure, on a day when 
kings gather men together, and with cruel mind shut them in, 
devising an evil destruction for them by great beasts, and they 
within the ring tear in pieces the slaves, whosoever cometh near 
them ; even so they in the midst did slaughter with a will*.” The 
Greek word he uses (βασιλεύς) served for the Homeric King and was 
the usual term for the Roman Emperor. It has been pointed 
out that an end was put to the beast-fights about the beginning 
of the fifth century, and though games were still held they were 
not bloody after that day. 

It may be complained that the evidence for his date is not very — 
strong, but on the whole it must be admitted when everything is 
weighed that the margin of error is slight, and while recognizing 
that: absolute certainty is out of the question we may accept the 
general verdict that puts Quintus in the age of Julian. 

Sainte-Beuve, in his very interesting study of Quintus, to which 
I shall have to refer more than once, remarks that the only 
biography we can form of Quintus must deal with his ideas and 


1 xiii. 336—343, 350—52. Homer hints at a royal destiny for Aeneas (II. xx. 
302—308), but does not particularize. Quintus lacks Virgil’s power, as he well 
may, but even Dionysius of Halicarnassus (i. 46-—47) is more spirited in his tale 
of Aeneas holding first the citadel and then Ida, and making terms for an 
honourable departure—all this from Hellanicus he says. There was yet a fourth 
story, that Aeneas was a traitor; and Servius says Virgil knew of it; so 
Chassang, Histoire du Roman, p. 364. This last is followed by Gower, Confessio 
Amantis, bk i. Hypocrisy. 2 vi. 531—7. 


Ι 


Quintus of Smyrna 81 


his character, and this part of the French critic’s work is admirable. 
The Posthomerica contains one solitary reference to the poet's life, 
but for the rest his character and his mind reveal themselves clearly 
in the course of the poem. His poverty precludes the possibility of 
mistake. 

He waits till, in his twelfth book, the Greek heroes are preparing 
to enter the Wooden Horse, and then he invokes the aid of the 
Muses in dealing with their names. A list rarely lends itself to 
poetic treatment and perhaps his invocation was timely, though the 
reader will regret that it was unavailing. At all events it gives us 
our one piece of knowledge about Quintus. He says :—“'Tell me, 
O Muses, in response to my asking of them each and all, who went 
down into the capacious Horse. For ye filled my soul with all song, 
or ever the down was spread upon my cheeks, when I fed the 
splendid sheep in the plains of Smyrna, thrice so far from Hermos 
as a shout will carry, by the temple of Artemis, in the free garden, 
on a hill not very low nor yet very high’.” Nothing could well be 
plainer, and yet Lorenz Rhodoman in the sixteenth century turned 
the shepherd into a professor and was sure the splendid sheep were 
pupils. If such a theory needs attention at all, it may be said 
Bernhardy pronounces that Quintus’ grammar and constructions 
stamp him as anything but a grammarian or teacher. Sainte-Beuve 
reaches a higher plane of criticism, when he says of this passage 
that ‘all is drawn with the precision of reminiscence inspired by 
the heart; every circumstance is given with love.” The curious 
details were to define the exact region, and one would need to know 
the topography of Smyrna to pronounce upon them. I have, I 
should say, no confidence at all in my rendering of ᾿Ελευθερίῳ ἐνὶ 
κήπῳ; it is a point that requires local knowledge. 

Why the poet introduced this personal touch, it is easy to see. 
He had before him Hesiod’s account of his inspiration by the Muses, 
and it encouraged him to tell of his own. Hesiod says he will begin 
his Theogony with the Muses “who taught Hesiod a beautiful song, 
as he fed his lambs under divine Helicon,” for they came to him and 
gave him a staff and bade him sing of the race of the blessed who 
live for ever, and of themselves first and last and always’. There is 
the source of Quintus’ courage, and while there may be something, 
there is probably not very much, in the suggestion that he dwells on 
his own Smyrnaean origin because Smyrna was one of the seven or 


1 xii, 304—311. 3 Theogony 22—34. 


82 Infe and Letters in the Fourth Century 


more birthplaces of Homer. No doubt the city’s claim to have 
given Homer to the world moved him as it would not have moved 
him to remember Polycarp, but to hint that he claimed to be from 
Smyrna because he was a second Homer is extravagance. Let us 
take him at his word, especially as everything tends to confirm the 
literal interpretation of it. 

It is when he speaks of his own country, of Lycia, Caria, Lydia, 
Phrygia, the Hellespont and so forth, that this second Homer nods 
least. He knew the ground and he loved it and dwelt with pleasure 
on one and another striking scene. For example, Dresaios is a 
person of no consequence, killed on his first appearance in the 
story, but he was born near “snowy Sipylus, where the gods turned 
Niobe to stone, and her tears still freely flow from the great crag on 
high, and with her wail the streams of loud-roaring Hermus and the — 
long heights of Sipylus, on which ever hangs the mist, the shepherd’s 
foe ; and she, she is a great marvel to them that pass by, so like is 
she to a woman of many sorrows, who mourns a bitter woe and 
sheds a thousand tears; and this thou wouldst say she was of a 
truth, when thou sawest her from afar; but when thou comest near 
thereto, it is seen to be the craggy rock, a spur of Sipylus. But 
she, fulfilling the baleful wrath of the gods, wails among the rocks, 
like unto one in sore grief’.” His interest is clearly not in Dresaios 
but in Niobe. Now compare the account given about 180 a.p. by 
the traveller Pausanias, himself said to be a native of Lydia. “This 
Niobe I myself saw when I went up Mount Sipylus. Close at hand 
it is a rock, a precipice with no sort of resemblance to a woman, 
weeping or otherwise ; but if you go further away, you will think 
you see a woman downcast and in tears*.” 

Again another unimportant warrior, killed at once, had pre- 
viously “dwelt in sheep-bearing Phrygia, under the divine cave of 
the fair-tressed Nymphs, where once as Endymion slept among 
his kine the fair Moon saw him from on high and descended from 
_ heaven ; for keen longing for the youth seized her, immortal virgin 
as she was, and to this day is the token of her couch under the 
oaks ; for all about it in the glade is the milk of the kine; and 
men see it there still. Looking from afar thou wouldst say it was 
white milk, and white water sent it forth, but when it cometh near 
it is dried up in its channels and is but rocky ground*®.” It would 

11 294306. 


5 Pausanias i. 21, 3: Sophocles, Antigone 823—832; Nonnus ii. 160. 
% x. 126—137. There is some doubt as to the integrity of the passage. 


Quintus of Smyrna 83 


seem to have been some white marble or an incrustation of some 
sort, but I have found no other allusion to it, though Pausanias and 
Strabo speak of the shrine and tomb of Endymion being on Mount 
Latmos, by the Maeander and just above Heraclea. 

There are other similar references to scenery, but let us take the 
voyage of Neoptolemus as a stepping-stone to something further. 
“And the divine dawn came to the sky ; and to them appeared the 
heights of the mountains of Ida, and Chrysa [an island to their left], 
and the shrine of Smintheus, and the headland of Sigeum and the 
tomb of the prudent son of Aeacus [Achilles], but the wise son of 
Laertes shewed it not to Neoptolemus, lest his spirit in his breast 
should be troubled. And they passed the Calydnaean islands, and 
Tenedos was left behind, and they saw the place of Elefis’, where 
is the tomb of Protesilaus overshadowed by tall elms, whose tops 
wither away so soon as they have seen Ilion, as they shoot upward 
from the plain. And the wind bore the boat as they rowed onward 
nearer T'roy, and they came where by the beach were other ships 
of the Argives, who then were being sore bestead as they fought 
about the wall they had builded aforetime to be a safeguard for 
the ships*.” 

This is a good passage, but it is hardly Homeric. When 
Odysseus sails home from Scheria, he sleeps and is landed asleep. 
No points of interest are remarked. But when Aeneas voyages 
westward®, he cannot do so without Virgil remembering Odysseus’ 
description of his native islands to Alcinous (Od. ix. 21—24) : 

Jam medio apparet fluctu nemorosa Zacynthos 
Dulichiumque Sameque, et Neritos ardua sasxis. 
effugimus scopulos Ithacae. 
We have Homer’s epithet (ὑλήεσσα Ζάκυνθος) ; and before very long 
another and a different reminiscence follows : 
_ Actiaque Iliacis celebramus litora ludis*. 


And then we remember Homer again : 


Protinus aerias Phaeacum abscondimus arces. 


Koechly marks a lacuna in the middle. I have here followed Zimmermann, 
whose remedies for Koechly’s lacunae are sometimes heroic, but often helpful. 
See Pausanias v. 1, 5; and Strabo c. 636. 

1 Blefis, on the Chersonnese, cf. Pliny, N. H. 4, 11 (18), 49; Pausanias i, 34, 
2; Arrian i. 11, 5, who all mention Protesilaus, Herodotus ix. 116 has a story 
about the stealing of Protesilaus’ treasures by a Persian governor. For the 
elms, see Pliny, N. H. 16, 44 (88), 238, and Wordsworth’s Laodamia. 

2 vii. 400-416. 3 See the passage in Aen. iii. 270—293. 

4 Virgil, it seems, followed Varro in letting Aeneas visit Actium, but the 
memories the name awakened were of an event after Varro’s day. 


6—2 


84 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Virgil, in fact, and Quintus would seem to have sailed through 
scenes they had read of, and their books were in their minds, just 
as the modern traveller sails up the St Lawrence and picks out with 
Parkman’s aid the positions held by Wolfe as they appear, the 
heights of Levis, the Point of Orleans, the East cliffs of the 
Montmorency, and then marks the citadel and the plains of 
Abraham, and, as the steamer leaves the quays, watches anxiously 
for Wolfe’s cove, “the little bay with the tall chimney’.” 

Quintus tells us he was or had been a shepherd, and in agree- 
ment with this statement is the remarkable number of similes 
drawn by him from country-life and from the calling of the 
shepherd in particular. No doubt many of these are imitated from 
Homer; at all events I know of no evidence for the existence of 
lions in Western Asia Minor in Quintus’ day, and one in ten of his 
similes boasts a lion. It may also be noticed how large a pro- . 
portion of the similes deal with mountain scenery, the sphere of a 
shepherd’s life. Bush-fires, landslips, storms in the hillside forests, 
hunting episodes, rivers in flood, the melting of the snow in the 
mountains, the swarming of bees, the flight of locusts, the migration 
of cranes, and the frolicking of a calf in a garden, all supply him 
with similes. And these have a warmth and a truth about them 
and speak of observation rather than of other men’s books An 
example or two may serve. 

As when amid rain the mist hangs upon the mountains, when 
the brawling channels are filled with rushing water, and every 
torrent roars aloud, and all the shepherds tremble at the floods and 
at the mist, dear to the savage wolves and the other beasts, bred in 
the depths of the forest?.... 

As when starlings and jackdaws, on outspread wings, swarm upon 
the olive-berries, for desire of the sweet food, nor can the lads for all 
their shouting turn them to flight before they eat, for hunger stirs 
their soul to shamelessness*... ; 


1 Conington however, on Aen. iii. 76, and 275, seems to question the accuracy 
of some of Virgil’s island geography and quotes Clark (Peloponnesus, pp. 20, 21) 
who doubts Virgil’s ‘“‘personal acquaintance” with the scenery Aeneas saw 
before reaching Italy. In any case Virgil wrote in an age of tours and me- 
mories more akin to Quintus’ than Homer’s. Lechevalier, whose Voyage en 
Troade (1829) is referred to by Sainte-Beuve, confirms the truth of Quintus’ 
topography, praises him with enthusiasm, and wishes his work were really 
Homer’s own. The first part of this criticism is probably of more value than 
the θοῦ. 

2 ii. 471. 

3 viii. 387. A simile which recalls the most beautiful scene in the Daphnis 

and Chloe of Longus (iii. 5, 6), quoted on p. 374. 


Quintus of Smyrna 85 


As when, upon the shore of the deep-voiced sea, men take the 
long ropes from the well-wrought pegs and scatter the long baulks 
and timber of a towering raft, and all the broad beach is filled with 
them and the black water splashes amidst them’... 

It may be said that there is not here perhaps the most perfect 
finish in the language, yet there is at least the note of observation 
and experience, which tells of country life. One point I have 
noticed which is not, I think, to be observed in Homer. Quintus 
has a curious habit of watching the horses in his battles. ‘The 
plunging of the horse in death, tangled with the chariot and 
another horse on top of him, affects him as it does the soldier 
in Kipling’s ballad Snarleyow. One of the few really living touches 
in his account of Troy’s capture is his description of how “when the 
houses fell, horses and dogs stampeded through the city in terror at 
the cruel flames, and with their feet they trod down the dead, and 
kept galloping about, a danger to the living.” It is the same story 
that Zola tells of the horses after the battle of Sedan, and it is 
startling to find so vivid and unexpected an episode in Quintus. 

On the other hand there is scarcely a trace in Quintus of the 
magic that brings the unconscious environment into a real sympathy 
with the mind of man. Musaeus, a somewhat later and greater 
poet, in his epic-idyll of Hero and Leander, gives the last touch to 
the description of the loneliness of Hero’s tower with the words : 

αἰεὶ δ᾽ ἀνὰ νύκτα καὶ ἠῶ 
ἐξ ἁλὸς ἠνεμόεντος ἐπιβρέμει οὔασιν ἠχή. 
But this is perhaps modern after all. ‘Tennyson, for example, in his 
Death of Oenone, a tale avowedly taken from Quintus, puts a 
different atmosphere into his scene by telling how the branches of 
the vines that covered the mouth of Oenone’s cavern 


were wither’d long ago, 
And thro’ the sunless winter morning-mist 
In silence wept upon the flowerless earth. 


Such treatment is quite beyond Quintus. 
Whether Quintus went to the school of rhetoric at Smyrna, 
it is impossible, and indeed needless, to say. His education was 


1 xi, 309. Allusions to ‘‘rafting” in classical literature are rare; but from 
what I have seen of it on Lake Ontario his picture seems true. To-day for 
ropes, saplings twisted by machinery are used; and ‘‘towering” (ἠλίβατος) 
would be rather a large word for the rafts I have been on, which rise not more 
than a few feet above the water. See Torr, Ancient Ships, p. 122, though the 
authors he quotes refer mainly to rafts as used in war. 


86 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Homer and little else, and though he has some few of the foibles of 
the rhetorical school his taste was really moulded by Homer and 
almost by Homer alone. After a careful study of his metre, which 
is ‘wonderfully Homeric and varies from Homer’s in but a few 
insignificant features, Koechly pronounces that Quintus wrote by 
ear rather than by written rule, and this means a freedom, an ease, 
and a naturalness quite foreign to the school and its artifices. The 
difference may be perhaps most readily felt by reading a page of 
Quintus and a page of Colluthus, who is a weaker member of the 
family of Nonnus. 

Homer dominated him, and it was not very strange that it 
should be so. Witness is borne to Homer’s power at this very time 
by the writings of Julian, who was steeped in him, and by the 
marvellous ἔοι de force of Apollinaris of Laodicea, who, when 
Julian forbade Homer to Christian teachers, made a new Homer out 
of the Pentateuch. This work does not survive, and if it did the 
student of the Posthomerica would hardly wish to read it. 

The great work of Quintus was to bridge the gulf between the 
Iliad and the Odyssey. This had perhaps been done long before by 
the Cyclic poets, and the question has been raised as to how far 
Quintus used ‘them. Schow believed that his work was a mere 
cento made from them, in which case one would be surprised to 
remark that he never stole a line from Homer—not a καί ποτέ τις 
εἰπῆσι; not an αὗταρ ἐπεὶ πόσιος ; perhaps not even a τὸν δ᾽ ἀπαμει- 
βόμενος. As a matter of fact however, the right view of the case 
has been put by Tychsen, who on reading and re-reading the book 
found the same quality throughout—which is fatal to the theory 
that half of it was Arctinus and half Lesches. Koechly also shews 
that in a large number of cases Quintus did not follow the versions 
given by the Cyclici of famous episodes, that he owed far more to 
the handbooks of mythology, and finally that in all likelihood he 
never so much as saw the Cyclici. ΤῸ this one may add that, while 
the manner of writing is the same, there is a great change at book 
xii., where the fighting stops, and the Wooden Horse is built. Here 
and in the story of the capture of Troy and the departure of the 
Greeks, there was no Homer for him to follow, and one realizes 
then how very dependent on the Jliad he has been throughout. A 
fight between Eurypylus and Neoptolemus can be modelled quite 
well on one in Homer, but when Homer will no longer serve and the 
poet is left to his own devices, he flounders terribly and has to fall 
back on a storm at sea to finish his book, His task in the actual 


a Ψ 


Quintus of Smyrna 87 


taking of Troy was a hard one. Virgil’s was easier, for he had to 
tell the story of one man’s part in it. Napoleon found even Virgil’s 
account deficient from a military point of view, but it has a unity 
and a completeness as the tale of Aeneas’ experience. Quintus 
gives us nothing but a string of second-hand horrors, without 
movement or connexion, neither Greek nor Trojan having any plan 
of action. 

Of course he has a few anachronisms, but he falls far short of 
Virgil in this. His heroes ride on horseback; they torture Sinon 
to get the truth out of him’; and Odysseus suggests and tries the 
formation known as the testudo. More noticeable are series of 
portents which he intermittently gives. Omen and portent are rare 
if they occur at all in the liad, and though they are found in the 
Odyssey they are not so awful as in Quintus, who piles them up after 
the manner of Lucan, some of them curiously like those familiar to 
the reader of Livy. We may also remark a difference from Homer 
in the gentler character of the warriors when not engaged in actual 
fighting, who “have respect unto the slain,” “for there is no wrath 
against the dead, for they are to be pitied and are foemen no longer 
when once their life is gone*.” The most remarkable example of 
this new feeling is the sudden love of Achilles for the maiden- 
warrior Penthesilea, whom he has just slain. The episode is hardly 
Homeric, but it has justly won the warm praise of Sainte-Beuve. 

This last feature appears in the story of Ajax and the arms of 
Achilles, to which we may give some further consideration There 
is an allusion to the quarrel of Ajax and Odysseus in the Odyssey, 
but no hint that Ajax thought of murdering the Greek captains. 
The arms were awarded on the decision of the Trojan captives 
and Athena*®. Pindar lets the Greek chiefs decide “by secret 
votes.” Sophocles, in taking the theme for a tragedy, was bound 
to adopt a less simple version of the story, which would allow 
more variety of character and motive, but was in consequence less 
epic in its movement. Quintus however was writing an epic, and 
realized that Sophocles’ rendering was not for him, and his work has 
a simplicity, and his characters a nobility, in striking contrast with 
the play. 

1 Even the gentle Synesius countenanced this method of examination. Lp. 
44, 1373 a. 

2 ix. 38; i. 809. Compare Virgil, Aen. xi. 304. We must not however forget . 
Od. xxii. 412 οὐχ ὁσίη κταμένοισιν ἐπ᾽ ἀνδράσιν εὐχετάασθαι. 

5. Od, xi.547. Aristarchus however rejects the line, but W. Christ and others 


—— that it is the oldest form of the story. Probably Quintus had no 
oubts. 


88 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


When the arms were first set out by Thetis and claimed by the 
two heroes, Nestor, with some pertinent remarks on the wisdom of 
age, suggested that the decision should rest with some Trojan 
captives, and Agamemnon accepted the proposal. Then the two 
heroes rose and pled. Here Quintus was going outside Homer, but, 
as their pleadings had long been themes for declamation in the 
schools, he had little to do but to go along the lines laid down. There 
are in fact close resemblances between the speeches in Quintus and 
in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, but Ovid is three times as long as Quintus. 
More than that, Ovid, as might have been expected, puts into the 
mouths of the Homeric warriors speeches too full of quirks and 
conceits for the Roman bar. ‘There is no difference between Ajax 
and Odysseus; both make neat little points and both are practised 
rhetoricians, versed in every artifice aid prettiness The warriors 
in Quintus are true to Homer—Quintus never has the strength of 
Homer, but he has at least the manner, and the speeches are not 
the terrible anachronisms of Ovid. Each says his say and 
emphasizes his own good points, and each makes a short rejoinder 
in conclusion, and the arms are given to Odysseus. 

But here Quintus broke down and described how the madness 
came on Ajax, giving a list of symptoms’, which betrays that he too 
had studied rhetoric, and had forgotten the wisdom of Hesiod that 
the half is more than the whole. In this state Ajax was led away. 
Then, fearing he would do mischief, Athena allowed the madness to 
fall heavily upon him, and with a series of similes Quintus lets us 
see him kill the sheep. Raging like a storm at sea, or a wild beast 
robbed of her whelps, or a bush-fire, or Orion, or a lion falling upon 
sheep, Ajax, his heart seething like a cauldron, threw himself upon 
the sheep and scattered them as the North wind scatters the leaves. 
Then he regained his senses, made a short soliloquy, debating on 
the courses open to him and cursing the Greek chiefs, and plunged 
Hector’s sword into his neck. His speech shews, I think, points of 
contact with the two speeches of Sophocles, but this is implicitly 
denied by good critics. 

The most marked divergence from the tragedy follows. The 
play dealt, according to Professor Jebb, with the death and burial 
of Ajax, the latter being as important as the former. But there is 


1 A similar deluge of pathology overtakes us, when Quintus tells of Laocoon, 
who was not, though his sons were, devoured by the snakes, but suffered blind- 
tay Many and grievous were his symptoms, καὶ ἔδρακε διπχόα πάντα (xii. 

1). 


Ι 


Quintus of Smyrna 89 


no such question in Quintus. ‘Tecmessa mourns her widowhood ἢ 
and looks forward to slavery, but Agamemnon reassures her, 
promising that, on the contrary, the Greeks will honour her as if 
she were a goddess, as if Ajax yet lived; while Odysseus, if a little 
prosy, expresses his regret at what has occurred and wishes he 
could have foreseen it, for then he would himself have given the 
arms to Ajax (For this Quintus seems indebted to the Odyssey, 
where Odysseus makes the remark to Alcinous.) Ajax is then 
buried with all pomp, “for they honoured him as much as 
Achilles,” and the burning of his body was as the burning of 
Herakles. 

It cannot be said that Quintus generally reaches the measure of 
success he attained in the episode of Ajax He had before him a 
large mass of traditions, many inconsistent with one another. It 
was difficult to deal with them without modifications, but though 
Quintus might select, he did not dare to modify. The story of 
Ajax permitted a reasonable treatment, but that of Philoctetes 
was harder. No valid explanation is given of the desertion of the 
suffering hero. He was healed too easily—“ swifter than thought” 
—by Podalirius on his arrival at the camp, and, though it is ex- 
plained that Athena aided in this marvellous recovery, it seems odd 
still that some attempt had not been made at first. Nor is it very 
clear why he should have consented to come to Troy. The ex- 
planation of his abandonment, given on the island by Odysseus, is 
that no one was responsible for it but Fate, and so says Agamemnon 
later on. Men are driven by Fate as leaves by the winds, so a wise 
man must endure what comes his way. Ὁ this Philoctetes merely 
says briefly that he understands all this and suggests going to bed 
if they mean to fight next day. I do not think Quintus intended 
any humour here, but it would help the situation. Assuming then 
that for some inscrutable reason Philoctetes allows that no one is 
responsible for the wrong done him, and that he is willing to come 
to Troy, it cannot be seen in Quintus that he effects anything of 
the slightest consequence. ‘he slaying of Paris cannot be con- 
sidered a heavy loss to the Trojans, though he is a respectable 
warrior in the Posthomerica. Yet we were told how, before his 
coming, battle raged, “till, bidden by Calchas, the Greeks withdrew 
to their ships, and forgot their toils, for it was not fated that Ilion 
should be conquered before the mighty Philoctetes, skilled in 
tearful war, came to the throng of the Greeks.” The idea of some 


1 ix. 325—329. 


90 Life and Letters in the Fowrth Century 


kind of moral satisfaction being the cause is precluded by the 
Greeks’ conviction that they were guiltless of any sin against him. 

Again, there is a strange passage in book x. Hera is greatly 
cheered by the death of Paris, and the four Seasons tell her of the 
future course of the war, outlining with some precision events, 
which may have occurred but which are entirely omitted by Quintus in 
the remainder of his narrative. The capture of the Palladium is to 
be the turning point of the war, and no allusion is made to it. It 
has been suggested that the poem wanted the poet’s final revision’, 
but the last three books, as I have said, are beyond revision. ‘To 
be mended they must have been re-written. In view of this it is 
going too far to suggest that Quintus wanted time. What he 
needed was something very different. 

Yet Quintus was not without some of the gifts of the poet. He 
had the instinct to keep to the Homeric simplicity and to avoid 
the rhetoricians e¢ dona ferentes*. Though, as we have seen, he 
owes them a little here and there, he is not a rhetorical poet. His 
verse is singularly Homeric in tone, though in no servile way. He 
abjures Homeric “tags,” as he does the dainty but monotonous 
rhythm of Nonnus, which is more suited to the idyll than to the 
epic. There is a good deal of variety and freedom in his rhythm, 
and its excellence is remarked by all the critics. Here perhaps he 
is at his strongest. 

He suffers from length, from copia rather than inopia to quote 
Tychsen. Pauw goes even further and declares that a third of 
him might have been removed with advantage, and perhaps he is 
right, but we must take the poet’s work as he left it, redundant 
and iterative as it is. He has to express a Homeric idea, and 
Homer has done it in the directest way, so Quintus has to try 
another with the result that he is longer and less effective. For 
example, when Patroclus’ body is burnt, Achilles says “let us 
gather up the bones of Patroclus, Menoetius’ son, singling them 
well, and easy are they to discern, for he lay in the middle of the 
pyre, while the rest apart at the edge burnt confusedly, horses and 
men*.” When Quintus describes the same being done for Achilles, 


1 Tychsen, p. li; Rohde (der gr. Roman, p. 110, n. 5) believes this little 
batch of prophecies to have been carelessly copied from the Hellenistic poet 
whom he supposes Quintus followed in the story of Oenone. 

2 What the rhetoricians had made of the actual story of Troy may be read in 
Chassang, Histoire du Roman, part iii. c. 5, on Philostratus’ Heroicus, Dares 
and Dictys. 

3 Il. xxiii. 239—242. 


Quintus of Smyrna é 91 


he says, “And his bones were clear to behold, for they were not 
like unto the others, but as it were the bones of a mighty giant, nor 
indeed were others mixed with them, since the kine and the horses 
and the sons of the Trojans, confusedly with other slain also, lay a 
little apart round about the corse, and he in the midst, overcome by 
the breath of Hephaestus, lay alone.” He has tried to say a little 
more than Homer but has achieved less. 

He is chiefly praised for his similes, to which I have alluded, 
but here again he suffers from excess. When Homer adds simile 
to simile, each illustrates some new point, but it cannot be said that 
Quintus’ comparisons always effect their purpose. ‘Too often they 
block the narrative. We have seen how they tumble over one another 
when he describes the madness of Ajax. Yet it is in his similes 
that he is after all most successful, which implies unhappily that his 
general work is not successful. It is one of the marks of the 
rhetorical school, that it endeavours to storm the reader’s admira- 
tion by a rapid series of brilliant attacks, blow upon blow, and 
sometimes it succeeds as in the case of Lucan, and perhaps of 
Claudian, though his case is rather different. Quintus, either from 
judgment or want of strength, avoids the manners of the school, 
antithesis, mythology, obscurity and other Alexandrine arts, but he 
is not strong enough or wise enough to resist the temptation to 
carry the reader by a brilliant use of simile. It is a half measure, a 
compromise between the rhetorician and the poet, and it fails. Still 
we must admit that if his similes, as too often his epithets, are not 
always wholly appropriate, they are at least very often happy in the 
sympathy they shew with wild nature and country life. Some of 
them, to quote Sainte-Beuve, are ‘refreshing, exact and un- 
common.” 

But more than rhythm and taste and the power to describe ex- 
ternal scenes is required of a poet, and it may be asked if Quintus has 
the higher gifts. It may seem from what I have already said that I 
have already given judgment. But first let us take the judgments 
of scholars and critics. T'ychsen found passages in the Postho- 
merica “worthy of a great poet,” while the faults were in some 
measure due to a “great and fertile nature.” Koechly brushes aside 
such estimates as “the fond imaginations of lovers and not the 
judgments of critics,” pronouncing Quintus to be without any really 
poetic faculty, his characters devoid of flesh and blood and his 


1 iii. 723—9. 


92 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


poem of unity. Bernhardy is still more savage and declares that 
Quintus “registers his material without the slightest psychological 
consideration.” On the whole the scholars are against Quintus. 

Turning to another school, we find Sainte-Beuve has a remark- 
ably high opinion of Quintus, whom he finds simple and easy in 
style, possessed of affection and sensibility, able to describe striking 
scenes with exactness and truth, and, in short, well worthy of study. 
Of the story of the death of Paris he writes, “Ceci est de la 
grande et vraie passion, de la pure et sincére nature; je donne 
entier tout ce morceau, admirable selon moi et le plus beau du livre 
de Quintus....I] me semble qu’il ne se peut rencontrer dans un récit 
épique, de scene plus profondément naturelle et plus moralement 
émouvante....I] avait certes un grand talent, celui qui ἃ une époque 
de décadence savait ainsi choisir, élaguer les circonstances frivoles 
et vaines, et rendre ou conserver ἃ ses récits un cachet de réalité 
qui les fait paraitre intéressants encore aujourd’hui et si émouvants 
par endroits.” 

And yet Sainte-Beuve had read Koechly’s introduction to the 
poet’. Whether Tennyson referred to any of these editors and 
critics or formed his views on independent study alone, his judg- 
ment is as clear and, I think, as true here as in the cases of Virgil 
and Catullus. In his dedication of The Death of Oenone he bids the 
Master of Balliol lay down his Plato for one minute, 


And read a ‘Grecian tale re-told, 

Which, cast in later Grecian mould, 
Quintus Calaber 

Somewhat lazily handled of old. 


Has Quintus indeed that realization of life, that feeling for 
humanity, which Virgil sums up in such lines as 


Sunt lacrimae rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt ? 


Do his men and women suffer real anguish, feel a real smart, or 
know “infinite passion and the pain of finite hearts that yearn” as 
Virgil’s do? Sainte-Beuve admits he is not a Virgil. Few episodes 
in the Aeneid are so terribly true as the story of Mezentius and 
Lausus. Quintus has a somewhat similar opportunity in the story 
of Nestor and Antilochus. But he does little more than remark 
that “no more cruel sorrow comes on mortal men than when sons 


1 Mr Andrew Lang (Contemporary Review, Aug. 1882) says ‘‘The Argonautica 
of Apollonius Rhodius seems to me a much less moving poem, much less 
Homeric in spirit, than the Posthomerica.” 


Quintus of Smyrna 93 


are slain before a parent’s eyes.” (Virgil omitted to say this.) He 
continues ; Nestor was grieved in his heart and called to his other 
son, “ Rise Thrasymedes, glorious of renown, that we may drive the 
slayer of thy brother and my son away from the poor corse, or 
ourselves upon him complete the tearful sorrow. But if there is 
fear in thy breast, thou art not my son nor of the stock of Pericly- 
menos, who dared to stand even against Herakles. But come let us 
toil, for necessity ofttimes gives great strength to men doing battle, 
though they be of little worth.” Memnon warns him to go away 
and he goes, remarking that he had once been a better man, but 
now retired like an old lion before a sheep-dog. At the beginning 
of the next book the Greeks wail for Antilochus, “but Nestor was 
not greatly overcome in mind, for it is the part of a wise man to 
bear a grief bravely, and not abjectly to give way to grief.” So, very 
soon (a day or two later) we find him chanting a hymn in honour of 
Thetis and Achilles, when the sea-nymph was giving the funeral 
games for her son. Of course we may remember Virgil’s at pius 
Aeneas after the last scene with Dido, but there is a difference. 
Quintus delivers himself of two reflexions in this story and they 
may serve to shew his manner. Where Homer and Virgil draw a 
man and let us see him suffering, doing battle, working, and leave us 
to feel with him, Quintus explains his feelings. It may be an 
affectation, an attempt to reproduce the epic simplicity, but it is a 
false simplicity—simplesse. Homer could hardly have shewn us 
Andromache a widow and explained that “great grief springs up for 
honourable women when a husband dies’.” Priam asks the young 
Neoptolemus to kill him that he may die and forget his sorrows, and 
he replies, ‘Old man, ready and willing am I whom thou biddest. 
For I will not leave thee, being a foeman, among the living; 
for there is nothing dearer to men than life*.” When the Trojans 
fall into a drunken slumber after their feast of triumph, we are 
informed that darkness covered their sight, “for the eyes and mind 
of young men are darkened by strong drink, when it cometh into 
their heart in plenty*.” 
Perhaps his best episode is that of Deidamia. It is quiet and, 
it may be, a little obvious, a theme, therefore, well suited to the 
gentle mind of the poet. A mother’s emotions, when her son goes to 
battle, are intense but not complicated. Hence Quintus can treat 
them with truth and feeling. In one or two points his treatment 


2 1. 116. 3 xiii, 238—40. 3 xiii. 11. 


94 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


recalls Claudian’s picture of the sorrow of Ceres for the lost 
Proserpine. Once before Quintus makes a touching reference to 
such a theme, when he tells how Thetis “bethought her of her own 
son, as she looked on Ajax; and sorrow fell upon her soul'.” 
Odysseus and Diomedes went to Scyros to fetch Neoptolemus, 
and that night “sweet sleep came not to Deidamia as she remembered 
the name of the wily Odysseus and of the godlike Diomedes, the 
twain who widowed her of war-loving Achilles, prevailing upon his 
brave soul that he should come to the war; and the Fate that 
turneth not away met him and cut off his return and brought 
- infinite sorrow to his father Peleus and to her, Deidamia. Therefore 
fear unspeakable held her heart lest, if her son went to the war, 
sorrow should be added to bitter sorrow.’’ She asks her son, “ Why 
is thy stout heart set on going with the strangers to tearful Ilion 
(Ἴλιον és πολύδακρυ), where many fall in the cruel fight, though 
they know war and battle? And now thou art young and knowest 
not yet the works of war, that ward off from men the evil day. 
But hearken thou unto me and abide in thy home, lest an ill report 
come to me from 'T'roy that thou art fallen in the battle.” 
Neoptolemus however was a fatalist and would go. “ And he 
with a bright smile was eager to hasten to the ship. But his 
mother’s tearful whispers (δακρυόεις ὀαρισμός) stayed him yet in the 
hall...and she, grieved to her heart, was yet proud of her son.” 
When he had gone, she lamented like a bird over an empty nest, 
“and now she threw herself on her son’s bed and wept aloud, and 
now by the posts of the door; and she put in her bosom any toy 
that there was in the house, wherewith when a tiny child he had 
delighted his tender heart. And for his sake, if perchance she saw 
some javelin left behind, oft and again she kissed it, and aught of 
her son’s that she saw through her tears. But he heard no more 
the ceaseless weeping of his mother, but went unto the swift ship®.” 
The story of Oenone’s death is well known. Paris was at last 
wounded by a poisoned arrow of Philoctetes, and knew none could 
cure him but Oenone. She would not and he died. ‘Too late she 
repented and threw herself on his funeral pyre. Erwin Rohde*, who 
speaks of the narrative as one of real feeling which stands out “in 
the wilderness of Quintus,” believes the tale to be of Alexandrine — 
origin. Quintus’ treatment displays once more an epic simplicity. 


1 iy. 498. 
2 vii, 240—345. 
3 Der griechische Roman, p..110, n. 5, and generally pp. 109—112. 


Quintus of Smyrna 95 


He omits the additional feature used by William Morris in The 
Earthly Paradise, and does not tell how Oenone brought Paris 
back to life and how, when with returning consciousness his first 
word was “‘ Helen,” she let him die. 

Paris, says Quintus, went to Oenone “against his will, but dire 
necessity led him to his wife’s face” while birds of ill omen hung 
and screamed around him. “And thus he spake with his faint 
strength: O lady wife, hate me not in mine anguish, that of old 
I left thee a widow in thy house, not of mine own will, but the 
Fates that none may escape led me to Helen, and would that before 
I had known her bed I had died in thy embrace! But come! by 
the gods who dwell in heaven, and by thy bed and our wedlock, 
have a gentle heart, and- stay my cruel pain, putting upon the 
deadly wound drugs that shall avail, that are fated to drive grief 
from the heart, if thou wilt. For it rests with thee to save 
me from grim death or not; but take pity quickly and stay the 
strength of the swift-slaying arrows, while still my force and my 
limbs abide; nor remembering baleful jealousy leave me to die 
unpitied at thy feet. It were a deed displeasing to the Litai 
(Prayers) who are the daughters of thundering Zeus and in anger at 
such as are overweening stir up against them the dread Fury and 
wrath ; but do thou, lady, ward off the Fates and quickly, even if 
I have sinned at all in folly.” 

There are wasted words in this, otiose epithets and draggling 
clauses, but that is not all. There is a suggestion of the sensualist, 
selfish and peevish, who has hardly a word of regret, hardly a 
thought of his baseness, and is in more hurry to be healed than to 
offer any amends for his treachery. If this were, as may be said, 
Paris’ true character, why allude so terribly directly to Helen? 
Tennyson has borrowed a good deal from Quintus here, but the 
speech as a whole is very different. 


‘Oenone, my Oenone, while we dwelt 

Together in this valley—happy then— 

Too happy had I died within thine arms, 

Before the feud of Gods had marr’d our peace, 

And sunder’d each from each. I am dying now 

Pierced by a poison’d dart. Save me. Thou knowest, 

Taught by some God, whatever herb or balm 

May clear the blood from poison, and thy fame 
. Is blown thro’ all the Troad, and to thee 

The shepherd brings his adder-bitten lamb, 

The wounded warrior climbs from Troy to thee. 


96 


Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


My life and death are in thy hand. The Gods 
Avenge on stony hearts a fruitless prayer 

For pity. Let me owe my life to thee. 

I wrought thee bitter wrong, but thou forgive, 
Forget it. Man is but the slave of Fate. 
Oenone, by thy love which once was mine, 
Help, heal me. I am poison’d to the heart.’ 
‘And I to mine’ she said ‘ Adulterer, 

Go back to thine adulteress and die!’ 


So writes Tennyson, and every line is a criticism. Of course it 


was not to be expected that Quintus should look at the story in the 
same way. Some of his plain-spokenness is an endeavour after epic 
simplicity and directness, yet it may be doubted if Homer would 
have told the same tale as his imitator. 


Oenone’s reply is long (20 lines) and sarcastic, but on a sudden 


another strain appears. ‘‘ Would that I had at my heart the great 
strength of a wild beast, to rend thy flesh and then to lap thy 


blood, for the woes thou hast given me in thy wickedness.” She 
bids him go “ἃ curse, a grievous curse to gods and men; for 
because of thee, wretch, mourning has befallen the immortals too, 
some for sons and some for grandsons slain. But go from my house 
and betake thee to Helen, by whose bed it befits thee to whimper 
night and day in dudgeon, pierced with bitter grief, till she heal 
thee of thy sore pains.” Hecuba breaks out in a similarly savage 
strain in the Jliad, and Zeus taunts Hera with a readiness to eat 
Priam raw and Priam’s sons, but after all Paris was a suppliant and 
in distress, and the coarse vein in Oenone, though not alien from 
the Greek character, gives an unpleasant impression. The reference 
to the gods, who lost some their sons and some their grandsons, may 
be primitive in its exactness, but hardly seems probable. 

As in the case of Philoctetes’ abandonment, no guilt seems to 
attach to those who have done the cruel deed. They are merely 
automata in the hands of Fate, a point to be remembered in view 
of what follows. 

For if there is one thing Quintus takes pains to assert, it is the 
supremacy of Fate. Of course he has the Homeric gods, but they 
are dull and bloodless, ornaments more than agents. The con- 
ception of Fate however appears in three forms; there are the 
Keres, there is Aisa, and there is Moira. The first chiefly appear 
with death—@dvarov καὶ κῆρα μέλαιναν. Yet the functions of them 
all overlap and nice distinctions are hardly to be drawn; but Aisa 
and Moira have perhaps a wider range of activity. 


Quintus of Smyrna 97 


' The Keres hang about the doomed man, pitiless, robbing him of 
his senses, deceiving him and exulting in his doom. The gods ° 
cannot check them, and though Quintus follows Homer in the 
occasional use of a phrase ὑπὲρ κῆρας where people narrowly make 
lucky escapes, yet the Keres are normally and properly inevitable 
(ἀφυκτοι). 

Aisa and Moira similarly dog the doomed, deceive him and 
cannot be escaped, but Quintus has a little more to say of them. 
Of Aisa, Calliope says to Thetis ‘Dost thou not know that about 
all men upon earth, about them all, the baleful Aisa, the invincible, 
hangs, recking not even of the gods, such strength has she alone ? 
And she shall sack Priam’s rich city, slaying of Trojans and of 
Greeks whomsoever she will, and there is no god that shall stay 
her’.” When in battle a Trojan prayer rose for deliverance, “the 
gods heeded not at all, for other was the mind of Aisa, giver of 
mourning ; and she regarded not mighty Zeus, nor any of the other 
immortals ; for her dire mind is not to be changed, whatsoever be 
the lot she spin with inevitable thread for men at their birth, for 
men and for cities; but under her, this will fall and that rise*.” 
Again, “not even Zeus himself can easily put aside Aisa beyond 
what is fated, Zeus who excels all the immortals in power, and of 
Zeus are all things*.” Aisa made Ajax to sin and before her men 
are like leaves before the wind‘, 

Moira sometimes appears in the plural. ‘The Moirai are 
daughters of holy Chaos (ἱερὸν Χάος iii. 756) and Zeus yields to 
them. ‘They control the varying destinies of men. The most 
curious passage is where Nestor is comforting Podalirius for the 
death of his brother. First he tries one line—the fatalist’s, 

“On high, good things and bad lie on the knees of the gods, a 
myriad all mingled; and of the immortals none seeth them, for 
they may not be foreseen and are covered in thick darkness. And 
on them Moira alone layeth her hands, and without looking she 
flingeth them from Olympus to earth; and they fly hither and 
thither as on the breath of the wind. And often great sorrow 
overwhelms a good man, and to a bad cometh wealth unmerited. 
Man’s life is blind, therefore he walketh not in safety but stumbleth 
oft with his feet, and his changing steps turn now to sorrow and 


1 πὶ, 649—654. The gods themselves might not care to stay her, if we may 
trust Thetis (xii. 206)—‘‘It befits not, when Zeus is angry, that for men, mere 
men (μινυνθαδίων), the eternal ones should fight.” 

2 xi. 271—7. 3 xiv. 98—100. 4 y, 594 and ix, 502. 


G, 7 


98 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


now to good; and none among mortals was ever wholly happy.” 
The moral is endurance, but a world governed by pure chance has 
small consolation for the bereaved, and as Podalirius will not so be 
comforted, Nestor drops fatalism and tries another approach before 
he ceases to speak. So in one speech we have two distinct theories 
of the universe—not to say three. 

“Hope ever for the better; for there is a saying (φάτις) among 
men that the good go to heaven that fadeth not, but the bad man 
to hateful darkness. And thy brother was both kind to mortals 
and the son of a god, and I think that he will ascend to the race 
of the gods by the bidding of his sire’.” 

“Tl ne faut pas trop presser la théologie du vieillard de Pylos,” 
says Sainte-Beuve, who justly describes the general philosophy οὗ. 
Quintus as “the paganism of the second or third period.” It 
blends certain elements of fatalism, a hint of a Neo-Platonic 
heaven, and a preference for the salvation of the well-born which 
is neither one thing nor the other, but is perhaps a good deal 
nearer Homer than either. 

The other world offers great uncertainties to Quintus, for which 
he may be forgiven*. We have seen Nestor’s views, and there are 
other cases, which add to the confusion. Memnon after his death 
is, we learn, ‘‘in the house of Hades, or else with the blessed on the 
Elysian plain*®.” Paris is uncertain about Hector’s lot, but proposes 
a course of action to please him “if indeed there be for men in 
Hades either mind or law*.” When Achilles dies, Poseidon 
tells his mother of his future shrine at Leuce and his glory as 
Pontarches, Lord of the Euxine, a position he actually held till 
displaced by St Phocas of Sinope after Quintus’ day®. Agamemnon 
speaks of him as with the immortals, and when he appears to his 
son in a vision he says the same. Homer had him a ghost with 
other ghosts below, and ignorant alike of the story of his own 
burial and of his son’s prowess. The bitter cry of Achilles to 
Odysseus in the Nekyia is famous—“ Rather would I live on ground 

1 vii. 70—92. This happy destination of the ‘‘ good” is the theme of 
Macrobius’ long Commentary on Scipio’s Dream. So Hermes Trismegistus 
(Ed. Bipont. Apuleius ii. p. 312), but he, like Claudian, says nothing of rank 
counting, and anticipates a strict examination of merits by the summus daemon. 

2 It may be pled that Virgil handles the next world with some uncertainty, 


but after all his fluctuations are distinctly within narrower limits, and his 
greatness, lying in another direction, is unaffected. 
3 ii. 650. 


4 iii, 197. : 
5 On the worship of Achilles at Borysthenis, a Greek town on the Dnieper, 
see Dio Chrysostom, Borystheniticus, 9, 14, 25. 


Quintus of Smyrna 99 


as the hireling of another, with a landless man who had no great 
livelihood, than bear sway among all the dead that be departed.” 
A similar divergence may be remarked between Homer and his 
imitator, when the one speaks of the dead at Troy and the other of 
Herakles. The wrath of Achilles “sent to Hades many strong 
souls of heroes and gave themselves (αὐτούς i.¢. their bodies) to be a 
prey to dogs and all winged fowls.” But when Herakles was burnt 
on Oeta “his soul left the goodly man and mingled with the air, 
and himself (αὐτός) was enrolled among the gods, when earth had 
received his long-suffering body’.” Here a man’s self has travelled 
from meaning his body to be his soul. 

Now there falls to be added to the confusion another element. 
We have seen the pleas advanced to Philoctetes and Oenone, that 
the wrong-doer is the victim of fate, which implies that there is 
no such thing as guilt or sin. Even so we saw that prayers 
rejected become avengers, which implies that there is guilt. Is 
there such a thing or not? No blame is to be attached to Helen, 
says Agamemnon, for the fault was all Paris’, and therefore has he 
been requited. Quintus accepts this view, and though Helen feels 
some shame, as Aphrodite might in the lay of Demodocus, the Greeks 
look on her as a goddess, as of course they had to in view of the 
Odyssey. This distinction between guilt and freedom from guilt is 
frail and will not stand rough usage. Quintus however manages to 
put it immediately side by side with some reflexions on the fall of 
Troy. “Justice, chief among the gods, brought much evil on the 
Trojans, for they first wrought evil deeds in Helen’s case, and first 
did despite to oaths, hard men, when in the wickedness of their 
heart they trampled under foot the dark blood and the sacrifices of 
the gods; wherefore the Erinnyes wrought woe for them thereafter 
and so they perished, some before the wall and some in the city as 


29) 


they feasted with their fair-tressed wives’. 


1 y.647—9. It may be objected that in the Odyssey (xi. 601—604) Herakles’ 
image is with the dead—etdwdov* αὐτὸς δὲ μετ᾽ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι réprerat—but the 
distinction is probably post-Homeric and an addition while the antithesis is not 
the same as in Quintus. Herakles at all events met the common fate of man, 
without achieving divinity, in the Iliad (xviii. 117—9). Quintus may be illus- 
trated by the words of Hermes Trismegistus (the Latin translation printed with 
Apuleius’ works but not his, Ed. Bipont. Apul. vol. ii. p. 321) on Asclepius, 
in quo ejus jacet mundanus homo, id est, corpus, reliquus enim vel potius totus, st 
est homo totus in sensu vitae melior, remeavit in caelum. See Geddes, Problem of 
Homeric Poems, p. 149. 

2 xiii. 377—384. There immediately follow. the recovery of Helen and 
Agamemnon’s plea, helped out by the special intervention of Aphrodite who 
gives her fresh beauty. 


7—2 


100 Life and Letters ὧν the Fourth Century 


That nothing may be wanting, the ghost of Achilles appears to 
his son in the character of Polonius and all but quotes Hesiod to 
him', He explains that he is now with the gods, “forbear then to 
be troubled for me, but put might into thy heart. Ever stand first 
among the Greeks, yielding place to none in courage; but in debate 
hearken unto older men, and all will call thee wise. Honour such as 
are blameless and have wisdom abiding with them, for the good is a 
friend to the good, and the grievous man to the froward. But if 
thou think what is good, good shall befall thee. But that man 
never reached the goal of Virtue, who had not a righteous mind ; 
for the stem of her is hard to climb and her shoots reach unto the 
sky, but such as strength and toil attend, win from their labour 
pleasant fruit, when they have ascended the goodly tree of Virtue 
of the fair garland. But come, be valiant, nor in thy wisdom vex 
thy mind overmuch for sorrow, nor delight greatly in good fortune, 
but let thy heart be gentle to thy friends and thy sons and to 
women. Men are like the flowers of the grass, withering and 
blooming. ‘Therefore be tender, and tell the Greeks, and most of 
all Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, if they remember all my travail about 
the city of Priam, and the prey I took ere we came to Troy, to grant 
me according to my desire, from among the booty of Priam, the 
well-clad Polyxena’, that they sacrifice her with speed, for I am yet 
angry and more than aforetime for Briseis,”’ and, as ruler of Pontus 
no doubt, he will raise a storm against them if they do not. So 
Polyxena is sacrificed, and if Achilles does not raise a storm, 
Athena does, in alarm lest, if Ajax the son of Oileus go un- 
punished, men will not heed the gods and justice and shame perish 
utterly. And with the elaborate drowning of Ajax, Quintus ends 
his poem. 

Our study has been long and tiresome, and what is the con- 
clusion? “‘'The gods give not all things at once unto men, but by 
some destiny evil standeth hard by good. So for Nireus, the king, 
along with fair loveliness was ordained impotence*®.” Quintus tells us 
of the weariness and exhaustion of his age which could admire but not 
create, which could echo the words of the thinker but not realize his 
thought, and which clung to the past because it did not believe in the 

1 xiv. 180—222. 

* Chassang, op. cit. 368, remarks how utterly Quintus ignores the romance 
that had, since classical times but long before his day, been woven round Achilles 
and Polyxena (see Philostratus, Heroicus 323). This romance was one of the 


most popular in the middle ages. 
3 vii, 11. 


Quintus of Smyrna 101 


future. It may be said they felt, as the Church did not yet feel, the 
value of beauty, but the beauty they loved wanted life, and the life 
within the Church was in time to give birth to richer and fuller 
beauty than they knew, to beauty embodying more of truth and 
containing more elements of permanence. 

Quintus with many another stood midway between the fervent 
Julian and the bitter Palladas. He loved the Homer Julian loved, 
but had he been able to understand his own mind, he would have 
realized that his thought was as godless and as hopeless as that of 
Palladas. But he did not understand, and the sense of life’s hollow- 
ness only came on his gentle soul now and then, and was lost again 
in the dreamy pleasantness of living in the country and completing 
Homer. 


CHAPTER V 


AUSONIUS 


Possem absolute dicere, 
sed dulcius cireumloquar 


diuque fando perfruar. 
Ep. xii. (xvi.) 7—9 


Tue amiable Gibbon’ remarks that the “poetical fame of 
Ausonius condemns the taste of his age.” So cultured a man 
as Symmachus, the Pliny of his time and the mouthpiece of Roman 
paganism, declares on his honour that he ranks Ausonius’ poem 
on the Moselle with the works of Virgil. If corroboration be 
needed for the statement of a heathen, St Paulinus of Nola supplies 
it. He gently deprecates being called a yokefellow of Ausonius ; 
“scarce Tully and Maro with thee could bear the yoke*.” The 
Emperor Theodosius writes a most friendly letter begging the poet 
to favour him with copies of his poems, as the greatest authors of 
olden days, “ whose peer your merits make you,” did by Augustus*. 
He and the Emperor Valentinian gave the poet commissions for 
epigrams and so forth on the sources of the Danube, their favourite 
horses and Easter, in which he was neither remarkably above nor 
below the average of Poets Laureate. Finally it was to Ausonius 
that Valentinian entrusted the education of his son Gratian, who 
himself, when Emperor, raised his teacher to the very highest 
dignities. It is clear then that by Ausonius we may in measure 
judge his age. 


1 Gibbon vol. iii. p. 356 (Milman and Smith). 

3 Symm. Ep. i. 14, 5 ita dii me probabilem praestent ut ego hoc tuum carmen 
libris Maronis adjungo. 

8. Ep. 11, 38. 

4 Praef. 3. Note illius privatae inter nos caritatis. 


Ausonius 103 


In the works of Ausonius, whatever else may be wanting, there 
is no lack of interesting detail about himself, his family and his 
friends, and on the whole it is here that the chief interest lies. 
He had no theories about poetry, no thought-out criticism of life, 
to give mankind; but sometimes trivial, always kindly, and in- 
corrigibly and invariably leisurely, he strings together verses to 
please himself, to amuse his friends or to do honour to those he loved. 
I shall follow in the main the order of chronology in dealing 
with himself and his writings, and if any one blame me for 
occasional digressions of some length, I am sure the amiable poet 
himself would have to defend me. 

There is probably no poet of antiquity, and few of modern days, 
of whose birth and connexions we know so much. The father of 
Symmachus amused his old age by writing a series of memorial 
verses for his old friends, and’ Ausonius did the same for his 
family and the professors he had known from his youth at Bor- 
deaux. His verses, I need hardly say, are much better than those 
for which Avianius won such praise from his dutiful son’. Ausonius 
tells us all about his father, and not only him, but his grandparents, 
his sons, sons-in-law and grandsons, and, in a word and literally, 
“his sisters and his cousins and his aunts,” regretfully owning 
that he does not know much about his wife’s sister and knows 
still less of her husband, but he cannot leave them out in the 
cold*. It will hardly be necessary to enumerate them all here. 

The poet’s maternal grandfather, Arborius*, came of old Aeduan 
stock and lived to ninety, leaving among his papers a forecast of 
his grandson’s greatness which came true. He was an astrologer, 
though he preferred to conceal the fact. The maternal grand- 
- mother is described in language curiously near the account the 
Barrack Room Balladist gives of Gunga Din— 


For all ’is dirty ’ide 
*E was white, clear white, inside. 


The poor lady was of dark complexion and was nicknamed Maura 
(the Moor), ‘but she was not black in her soul, which was brighter 
than a swan and whiter than untrodden snow.” She was an austere 
old lady, and kept her family “on the straight” (ad perpendiculum 
seque suosque habuit*). 


1 Symmachus, Epp. i. 2 and 3. 2 Parentalia 21. 
Υ ‘pp 
3 Parentalia 4. 4 ib, 5. 


104 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Ausonius’ father’ was the leading physician of Burdigala (Bor- 
deaux) and apparently a fine man. With all his foibles Ausonius 
was a good son, and time and again he tells us of his father’s 
qualities. He preferred “rather to live than to talk by the rule 
of the wise” ; he was moderate in his ambitions, kindly, modest, a 
good neighbour ; and he hated gossip and scandal. 


Famam quae posset vitam lacerare bonorum 
non finai et veram si scierim tacui. 


In his son’s wake he too rose to glory and was Prefect of Illyricum 
and lived to ninety, a hale and hearty old man. ‘The poet’s mother, 
like a Roman lady of the good old days, had a reputation for 
modesty, wool-making, conjugal fidelity and good discipline. 

Ausonius was born at Bordeaux about 310 a.p. He was still 
living in 390 according to Seeck, and as late as the end of 393 
_according to Peiper. Seeck however fixes no limit for his life, as 
he came of stock so remarkable on both sides for longevity®. 

His life, roughly, began with the reign of Constantine and ended 
with that of Theodosius, and covered the period of the victory 
of the Church over the Empire, of its struggle with Arianism and 
its victory there, of the reaction of Julian and the final establish- 
ment of well-defined orthodoxy. Nor are these eighty years with- 
out interest in what is called secular history. Yet his life, as 
mirrored in his poetry, is unraffled and serene, and this, though 
he lived to see his imperial pupil murdered, a tyrant established 
in his country, and religious persecution in learned circles. He 
was undisturbed by the Arian controversy. He displays indeed 
a certain carefulness to establish a good character as became one 
of rank so high, but it gives the impression that the poet was not 
interested in the dispute and contented himself by adopting at 
second-hand the resultant and victorious creed. To his religion, 
which though null in itself is important as a sign of the times, we 
shall have to recur. 

He was educated at Toulouse and Bordeaux. He had, to 
begin with, eight years of training at Toulouse under his uncle 
Arborius (c. 320-328), who was called about 328 to Constan- 
tinople to bring up a son of Constantine (perhaps Constantius 


_ 1 Parentalia 1, and Epicedion. Notice especially the preface to this latter 
piece—post Deum semper patrem colui...alia omnia mea displicent mihi; hoc 
relegisse amo, not an unworthy feeling. 


* Seeck’s Symmachus, Intr. p. lxxxi. Peiper’s edition of Ausonius is 
the most helpful of the Teubner series. = Ra Se One Ee 


Ausonius 105 


himself). ‘Then he returned to Bordeaux to finish his education, 
and after some six years he became himself a professor of “ Grammar ” 
and married Attusia Lucana Sabina. 

As the life-work of Ausonius was education, and as his poems 
are full of reminders of it, a discussion of the subject may not 
be out of place’. Education had by his day been reduced to 
something like system, but in Rome’s greater days it was not so. 
Then every man brought up his son after his own method, and 
the result, if not precisely culture, was generally manhood. In 
92 B.C. an innovation crept in and was promptly stopped for the 
time®. A Latin school of rhetoric was opened in Rome, but forth- 
with closed by order of the Censors as contrary to Roman tradition 
(mores majorum). he Greeks had been and continued to be in 
private families the educators of Rome. They had introduced the 
usual subjects of study in Greece, but had not been uniformly 
successful with them. Philosophy the Roman. reckoned to be 
verbiage. Geometry was useless. About Rhetoric he was doubtful. 
Grammar was obviously above suspicion. Grammar started by 
meaning “the art of speaking correctly,” and then fell to illus- 
trating itself from the poets, whom it bodily annexed, finally ex- 
tending its borders beyond prose to scansion, music and even 
astronomy, philosophy and geometry. In fact, Grammar meant a 
liberal education. One regrets therefore to see the old name 
Grammar school dying out. Rhetoric was the art of setting forth 
what one knew and concealing what one did not, and was therefore 
more important than Grammar. It was generally agreed that the 
two together made an education, though men complained that the 
rhetorician poached on the grammarian’s preserve and gradually 
drove him out. 

At first, as I have said, the teachers were private adventurers, 
and some succeeded and some failed. Remmius Palaemon, we are 
told, made £3200 a year’, and Orbilius, the famous teacher who 
flogged Horace, lived to see a long old age of penury‘. 


1 TI am indebted to M. Boissier’s La Fin du Paganisme for a good deal of 
what follows—a charming book from which I have derived much advantage 
in many matters. 

2 Cf. Cic, de Or. iii. 24, 93. 

8 Suetonius, de illustribus Grammaticis 23. This man was a freedman of 
vicious habits but of ability. He used to maintain that Virgil’s use of his name 
in the Third Eclogue was a prophecy. He was one of Persius’ teachers (Vita 
Persii). 

4 Suet. de ill. Gramm. 9. 


106 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Hence there was a tendency to accept positions under a scheme 
which, if it meant no more Palaemons, at least excluded the grosser 
forms of starvation. Julius Caesar recognized teachers of the liberal 
arts and gave them exemptions from public service. Quintilian 
was a professor in Rome for twenty years and rescued Roman taste 
by preaching Cicero’. Vespasian fixed the salaries in Rome at 
£800 a year (a very respectable minimum for-a professor)*. Marcus 
Aurelius founded chairs in Athens at £380 a year in Plato, Aris- 
totle, Epicurus and Zeno (a catholic selection of subjects), and 
wisely left the choice of professors to a scholarly friend—Herodes 
Atticus. Theodosius IJ. in 425 established a university at Con- 
stantinople, with thirteen professors in Latin (three Rhetoric, ten 
Grammar), fifteen in Greek (five Rhetoric, ten Grammar), and two 
in Law. One in Philosophy seemed enough in a Christian uni- 
versity®. They were forbidden private teaching, but could retire 
after twenty years’ service. 

Turning to less advanced education, we find two grades of 
school—the village school and what we may call perhaps the 
Grammar school, verging now and then into a college. These 
schools were widely spread. We have an interesting letter of Pliny 
(iv. 13) to Tacitus telling him about an arrangement for a school- 
master at Como. Hitherto the boys had gone to school at Milan, 
which Pliny thought a pity, so he offered the Como people part 
of the salary of a teacher. This, he shrewdly remarks, was to 
make them take an interest in the investment of their own money 
in the other part of the salary. The village schoolmasters may 
have been prodigies of learning compared with the villagers, but 
they were not so regarded in the higher walks of letters. Litterator 
has not a very honourable connotation*. The poor man had to teach 
unwilling children their lessons, and St Augustine speaks feelingly 
of the odiosa cantio—unum et unum duo; duo et duo quattuor’. 


1 x. 1, 112; 1116 se profecisse sciat cui Cicero valde placebit. 

3. Suet. Vesp. 18, primus 6 fisco Latinis Graecisque rhetoribus annua centena 
constituit. 

3. Chassang remarks the absence of History (Hist. du Roman, p. 98), but it 
might be included under Grammar or Rhetoric. Staphylius, a rhetorician at 
Bordeaux (Auson. Prof. 20), knew Livy and Herodotus at any rate. The 
rhetorical conception of history was held by very respectable people. 

_ 4 Suet. de ill. Gramm. 4; Gellius, N. A. xvi. 6,an amusing story. Macrobius 
is Do oie ei contemptuous, Sat. v. 19, 31. The word is applied to sciolists in 
general. 

5 Conf. i. 13, 22. In 13, 20, he says even Latin, as taught by these primi 
magistri, was tiresome. 


Ausonius 3 107 


Ausonius writes an interesting poem to his grandson who is 
going to school, and writes with a good deal of sense’. He begins 
by hinting at holidays— 

The due vicissitudes.of rest and toil 
Make labour easy and renew the soil. 
(Sed requie studiique vices rata tempora servant 


Et satis est puero memori legisse libenter 
Et cessare licet.) 


But the gist is that little Ausonius (qui nomen avi geris) must 
not be afraid. It is pretty clear that the discipline in some 
of the schools did not fall far short of being ferocious. The 
grandfather urges that a master should never be a sight of 
terror, even if he is stern with age and rough of tongue, and 
his wrinkled brow bodes trouble. Let the little boy think of 
Achilles and Chiron who was half horse—truly a terrible school- 
master. “So fear not you, though the school resound with much 
thwacking and the old man your master wear a truculent frown. 
‘Fear proves a soul degenerate’ [a half line of Virgil from his 
lesson book to encourage the boy]. Be yourself and be bold, and 
let not the noise and the sounding rods, nor terror in the morning, 
make you afraid. The ferule, the birch and the tawse, and the 
nervous fidgeting of the benches of boys, are the pomp and show 
of the place. All this in their day your father and mother went 
through. You too will be a man some day, and I hope a great 
man.” From this he passes on to tell him what they (grandfather 
and grandson) will read together at some future time. After this 
he speaks of his own methods of teaching, which seem much milder. 
“Your grandfather knows about it all, after making trial of a 
thousand natures in his teaching. Many in their years of infancy 
have I nurtured myself...With soft bidding and gentle terror 1 
wood them to seek the pleasant profit at cost of trouble, to pluck 
the sweet fruit of a bitter root.” No one can read the affectionate 
words Paulinus addressed to his old teacher without feeling there 
must have been a charm about his teaching. He calls him “a 
father, to whom God has willed I should owe all sacred rights and 
all dear names’.” 

The ‘grammar schools” managed by municipalities were apt 
to be badly and unpunctually paid. Constantine legislated in the 


1 Ep. 22. The boy was the son of Ausonius’ daughter and his father was 
ead. 


2 Paulinus, Ep. xi. 91 (=xxx. in Peiper’s edition of Ausonius). 


108 Life and Letters in the Fowrth Century 


teacher’s interests in this matter, and Gratian, Ausonius’ pupil, 
fixed a scale of salaries to be paid by the cities according to their 
size and importance. It would seem to have been the aim of the 
Emperors to control the schools—a very significant fact. Some of 
the positions were directly filled by the Emperor, some by the 
Decurions (the long-suffering upper class). As these men probably 
had to pay the teacher, this seems just; but they needed looking 
after. Sometimes they would ask advice from a man of eminence, 
and in this way, on the recommendation of Symmachus, Augustine 
(not yet a saint) was sent to Milan to the great advantage of 
Christendom. Julian, who had particular reasons for wishing to 
direct education, enacted that the choice of the Decurions should 
be submitted to the Emperor. His more famous “schools” decree 
forbade Christians to teach heathen literature. 

This brings us (for I have said grammar schools and colleges 
ran into one another) to the subjects of education in Ausonius’ 
day. That “idolatry which is midwife to us all*” still ruled the 
schools despite Tertullian, and was still to rule them despite 
Jerome. It was an incalculable boon to the Church that she could 
not control the education of the young. They were still taught 
Virgil and Cicero, Horace and Terence, and gained a wider outlook 
on life, a larger range, and (not the least) a purer and more nervous 
style in consequence. Virgil haunted the minds of such men as 
Tertullian, Jerome and Augustine to their dying day. So we find 
a Christian world full of schools and colleges where Christian men 
trained the youth in heathen things. Literature was still heathen. 
The exquisites still affected to sneer at Tertullian and Cyprian, 
the strongest and the suavest of Latin prose writers since Tacitus 
and Pliny*, Nay more, it was unbecoming to know anything 
‘about Christianity. Dio Cassius never mentioned the word— 
“ Jewish superstitions” served instead. So it went on. Panegyrics 
were addressed to Christian Emperors without a hint that the 
world’s worship had undergone a change. Where allusions must 
be made to higher powers, it is nwmen divinum—“ Divinity ”— 
a colourless word*, Roman writers of learning and intelligence like 

1 Tertullian, de Anima 39. 

2 Lactantius, Instit. v. 1 of Cyprian, denique a doctis hujus seculi quibus 
forte scripta ejus innotuerunt derideri solet. He had himself heard Cyprian 
called Coprian. 

3 So St Cyprian, whose training was rhetorical too, uses divina protectio, 
majestas, pietas, benignitas, etc. He at all events was not ‘‘hedging,” and his 


use of the abstract shews it was a point of style as well as a most convenient 
ambiguity. 


Ausonius 109 


Macrobius and Eutropius manage to ignore the new faith entirely, 
the latter mentioning it only once, the former never alluding to 
it even indirectly. Claudian is even more triumphantly pagan 
and flaunts the old gods and the altar of Victory in poems written 
to celebrate that family of Christian Emperors who did most to 
stamp out paganism, but he never alludes to Christianity except 
in one flippant epigram. Rutilius does not mention the name 
though he attacks the thing, bitterly mocking the folly of mona- 
chism and sighing over that conquest of Judaea, which had spread 
the Jews and their infectious superstition over the world’. 

While dealing with the relations of the schools and of literature 
to Christianity, we may return to Ausonius and inquire where he 
stood. His position is interesting, not because it is thought out, but 
because it is typical of a class which must have been very numerous. 

Ausonius, as we have seen, was a Christian, but he does not 
proclaim it on the housetops. He has a group of little poems which 
he calls the Hphemeris—the day’s work. He begins in bed with 
elaborate Sapphics to waken his slave, but when “the rhythm of 
Lesbian calm” fails, he gets him up at last with iambic dimeters 
and concludes with an intimation that he will say his prayers. 
This he does in dactylic hexameters, which have been pronounced 
to be “nervously orthodox.” The Father lacks beginning and 
end and is older than time past or to be. The Son sits at the 
Father’s right hand, the Maker of all things, the word of God, 
God the word, begotten in the time when time was not, God born 
of Father unborn. ‘This is to give the lie direct to the Arian ἦν 
more ὅτε οὐκ 7jv—there was when the Son was not—though he shews 
he is not a professional theologian by inserting the word “ time” 
in the first half of the phrase, which the Arians were exceedingly 
careful to avoid. Point after point in his prayer may be illustrated 
from the creeds of the Nicenes. He prays for the longed-for ray 
of eternal light, “if he does not swear by gods of stone, and does 
recognize Thee, the Father of the Only Begotten Lord and God, 
and One with both the Spirit that brooded on the watery waves.” 
Elsewhere he is as careful. Dr Hodgkin sees more in his prayer, 
and certainly he offers up some petitions for a manly moral life 
to which Horace might have said Amen, but which I think St Paul 


1 Atque utinam nunquam Judaea subacta fuisset 
Pompeii bellis imperiisque Titi! 
latius excisae pestis contagia serpunt 
victoresque suvs natio victa premit. i. 389. 


110 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


would have considered not very far-going, if quite unexceptionable 
so faras they go. ΤῸ my mind the significant thing is the outburst 
following the Amen :—satis precum datum Deo. “Enough of 
prayers, though of course guilty mortals can never pray enough. 
Give me my outdoor things, boy, I have to call on some friends.” 
This may be very natural, but it is hardly suggestive of a specially 
deep piety. Contrast it with Prudentius’ Daily Round, where 
every part of life is touched by religion— 

Christus et influat in pateras ; 

seria ludicra verba jocos 


denique quod sumus aut agimus 
trina superne regat pietas, 


Thus much for the system and the subjects of study, but we 
can go further. Ausonius has been admirably summed up by 
M. Boissier as “an incorrigible versifier’,’ but we may readily 
pardon him, for the little obituary tributes, in which, as I have 
mentioned above, he commemorated his Professors, let us see a 
little of the life of a professor in those days, with hints of student 
life too’ which we can supplement from elsewhere. 

He begins with a man called Minervius, a teacher of rhetoric, 
who gave a thousand pupils to the bar and two thousand to the 
Senate (probably round numbers). Minervius was a second Quin- 
tilian, with a torrent of language, which rolled gold and never mud. 
His memory would have made him a good whist player, for after a 
game at backgammon (or some game of the kind) he could repeat 
the throws in order from beginning to end. He was very witty, lived 
τ to sixty, and would have been an ideal man for a combination room, 
and “if there is a future life, he is still living on his reminiscences : 
and if there is not, he lived for himself and enjoyed life here®.” 

It is hardly necessary to detail them all. ‘wo call for notice, 
a father and a son, of Druid descent, Attius Patera and Attius 
Delphidius by name. It is interesting to remark that where Roman 
arms went, Roman culture followed, and often effected as much in 
securing Roman domination®. At an early stage we learn that 
eloquent Gaul has taught the Britons oratory, and Thule at the 
world’s end is thinking of engaging a rhetorician*. This mission of 

1 FP. i, 175. 

2 He may very well, it is suggested, have been the sener Garumnae alumnus 
who taught Symmachus, Fp. ix. 88. 

3 Cf. Tacitus, Agricola 21. 


* So Juvenal vii. 148. We might add that Spain, in Quintilian of Calagurris, 
taught Rome herself. 


Ausonius 111 


education, for which Rome does not always receive credit, is one of 
her noblest works. In Ausonius’ day the best of Roman literature 
came from Gaul, Spain and Africa. The elder Attius was a 
cultured kindly rhetorician, who had the old age of an eagle or a 
horse. The younger soared higher and fared worse— 


Felix quietis si maneres litteris 
opus Camenarum colens— 


but even he had alleviations in his lot, for he did not live beyond 
middle age and so did not see his wife and daughter turn Pris- 
cillianists and meet a sad end at the hands of a persecuting 
usurper. This murder, prompted by bishops and executed by 
Maximus to gain the support of the Church, shocked the conscience 
of the world, Christian or otherwise’. 

Ausonius writes a Sapphic ode to his Greek professors, con- 
fessing that he got very little from them, but generously owning 
it was his own fault, “because I suppose a certain dulness of 
perception stood in my way, and some baleful mistake of boyhood 
kept me from applying myself to my studies.” ‘Too true, for, though 
he amused himself in translating Greek epigrams, I have caught 
him in a false quantity here and there. ‘This perhaps served him 
right for writing a barbarous jargon of Greek and Latin words 
mixed. He only did it once, but that was once too often. Such 
plays of humour as κουαιστωδέα Jucrov and οὐίνοιο βόνοιο have 
little to recommend their being written, nothing their publication. 
I am afraid Ausonius was in good company, when he did badly 
at the Greek. St Augustine asks, “ Why did I hate Greek litera- 
ture? I greatly loved Latin—not indeed what I learnt from the 
man who taught me the elements, but what the Grammarians 
teach.” (He is no doubt thinking of Virgil.) Even Homer was 
bitter to him as a boy. The Professors of Bordeaux and Toulouse 
seem to have been on the whole a genial and agreeable set of men, — 
not very great perhaps nor always very good. One had to flee 
to Spain owing to a damaged name (saucia fama), but there he 
took a new one and a rich wife, and let bygones be bygones. They 
moved from chair to chair—from Bordeaux to Constantinople, and 
back again—looking out for heiresses and not unfrequently finding 
them, for they were cultivated men and above all good company. 


1 See chapter xii. pp. 292—293. Cf. Pacatus, Panegyric to Theodosius 29 ...ut 
unco ad poenam clari vatis matrona raperetur. Obiciebatur enim atque etiam 
probabatur mulieri viduae nimia religio et diligentius culta divinitas. 


112 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Of one we are told that he did not know much, but quite enough 
for the poor chair he held. In general, they were all that could 
be expected. Paulinus complains that all they could do was to 
“train the tongue and fill men’s hearts with falsehood and 
vanity” —by which he means heathen literature. They lacked, 
and Ausonius lacked, the root of the matter, and those who knew 
them best and loved them best had to admit it. Style, polish, 
grace, neatness were there, but not life, and its absence vitiates 
all the excellence they attain. 

The students were much like other students, but treated their 
professors much worse or much better. Sometimes they would pay 
no fees, or would desert a teacher just before they fell due, or 
would leave him for one less strict. Here and there the teachers 
had absolutely to form a sort of “union” (συνθήκη) to safeguard 
themselves’. 

At Rome Theodosius had to make regulations for the students, 
including the production of certificates of origin, registration, police 
control and finally departure at the age of twenty. The students 
from Africa in particular were so disorderly in Rome that Valen- 
tinian ordered that if they went too much to the theatre and 
festivals at night, or did not generally conduct themselves according 
to the dignity of liberal studies, they were to be deported home”. 
At home, in their own Carthage, they made the streets terrible 
with their eversiones, interrupted classes, and in their “foul and 
reckless licence” did things which were punishable by law—nisi 
consuetudo patrona sit, says Augustine*. Freshmen seem to have 
divided with professors the attentions of the energetic. But on 
the other hand students would now and then as a mark of respect 
escort their professor home, or do battle hand to hand with the 
students of another professor to maintain the reputation of their 
_ teacher, or to kidnap a freshman for their own class. Thus 
Libanius went to Athens to study under a certain Aristodemus 
apparently, but one evening he fell into the hands of the students 
of Diophantus, who arrested him and kept him in durance till he 
would swear allegiance, when they let him go, now one of them- 
selves*. 

Ausonius then became a professor in the university of Bordeaux 


1 See Sievers, Libanius, p. 30. 

? Boissier, L’ Afrique Romaine, c. vi. 1, p. 224. 

3 Conf. v. 8, 14 on students at Carthage; v. 12, 22 Rome. 
4 Sievers, Libanius, p. 46. 


Ausonius 113 


about the age of twenty-four (334), and there he married Attusia 
Sabina, and very proud of her he was. Among his epigrams, which 
are many, some neat, some nasty, the best are addressed to her. 
One is an apology, for which there is some need. Catullus apolo- 
gised on the ground that, while the poet ought to be pure, his 
verses need not be, in fact were better not to be’. Ausonius pleads 
variety as his excuse, but as his dirtiness is purely conventional 
and imitative it is the harder to pardon. However to his wife 
he pleads thus— 


Lais and Thais, neither name 
Of very specially good fame, 
My wife reads in my song: 
“?Tis nothing but his way to jest, 
He makes pretence,” she doth protest, 
“He could not do me wrong.” “ (Epigr. 39.) 


Probably this was the case. Another epigram bears witness to 
their happy relations. 


Be life what it has been, and let us hold, 

Dear wife, the names we each gave each of old; 
And let not time work change upon us two, 

I still your boy, and still my sweetheart you. 
What though I outlive Nestor? and what though 
You in your turn a Sibyl’s years should know? 
Ne’er let us know old age or late or soon; 

Count not the years, but take of each its boon. 


(Epigr. 40.) 


This tender hope was not fulfilled. She died after some nine 
years of married life at the age of twenty-seven, leaving two chil- 
dren, a boy and a girl, their first little son having died when about 
a year and a half old and learning to speak (Parent. 9). 

At seventy, when he wrote his lines to his relatives (Parentalia), 
Ausonius addressed her again. Her loss is still after thirty-six 
years nec contrectabile vulnus, a wound he cannot bear touched. 
“Old age permits him not to soothe his grief: it is ever sore and 
ever new. Other sufferers find consolation in time’s flight. Time 
but the impression deeper makes...[t makes his wound more cruel 


1 Catullus 16, 5f. Tennyson alludes to this, saying ‘‘I don’t agree with 
him; his verses fly much further than he does. There is hardly any crime 
greater than for a man with genius to propagate vice by his written words” 
(Life, vol. ii. 400). See also Boissier on Martial’s apology: Revue des deux 
Mondes, 15 July, 1900. 


rc 8 


114 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


that he has none to whom to confide his sorrows or his joys” 
(Parent. 9). His elevation and distinction, much as he enjoyed 
them, had still this amari aliquid. 

To his father he wrote a pleasing letter in elegiacs on the birth 
of his son. “I thought that nothing could be added to my 
affection, that you my honoured father should be loved the more 
eaten What I owe as a son, a parent’s care for your grandson tells 
me. We must give my father the extra honour of a grandfather.” 
This must be the elder son, who died, and to whom he gave his 
own and his father’s name, Ausonius. ΤῸ the younger, who lived, 
he gave the name Hesperius, in which Seeck finds a variant for. 
Ausonius, the words being synonyms in Virgil. In the same way 
the old grandmother's name Maura reappears in Melania, and 
Arborius in Dryadia. Thus he called both his sons after himself. 
The idea seems pretty, but, as Seeck points out, the ingenuity and 
the easy invention of a new name betray that the family was not 
of really high station, for then old names of the paternal and 
maternal houses would have almost inevitably prevailed’. 

Years passed while Ausonius still taught at Bordeaux, missing 
his wife and attaching himself instead to his children and pupils; 
and in 359, when he was already forty-nine, a child was born who 
was to raise him to glory. Valentinian, an officer in the army 
under Constantius, had a son whom he called after his grandfather 
Gratian. Nothing specially remarkable seemed to be destined for 
him, and yet this child was to be an Emperor and meet a cruel 
death at the hand of the usurper Maximus at twenty-four (383 A.D.). 
Constantius had no son, and, beside the heir presumptive Julian, 
there were none of Constantine’s family living. But in four years 
Julian was dead in Mesopotamia, and the wretched Jovian had 
succeeded him to the shame of the Roman world. Luckily this 
person soon died (Feb. 17, 364), and a month later Valentinian 
was made Emperor by the soldiers. 

But before we touch further on Valentinian, an interesting point 
may be raised about the reign of Julian. Julian forbade the 
teaching of Classics by Christians in his famous schools decree of 
362. Did this affect Ausonius? His correspondence with Paulinus 
seems to shew that literature came before religion in his affections, 
nor does he otherwise seem to have been the stuff of which martyrs 
or even confessors are made. What did he do? Victorinus, one 


1 See Seeck, Symmachus, Intr, p. clxxiy., ἢ. 885. 


Ausonius 115 


of the most famous Latin professors of the day, at once resigned 
his position. I can hardly imagine Ausonius doing the same, and 
yet I cannot well account for his subsequent history if he apostatized. 
Rode, in his book on Julian, opens a way out of the difficulty by 
pointing out that in the West little effect was given to the pagan 
reaction. Probably then Ausonius was not questioned at all about 
his religion—a happy thing for him. 

Valentinian, established as Emperor in the West, now called 
Ausonius to undertake the education of Gratian—an action bearing 
witness to the repute of the poet, or rather the professor, after his 
thirty years of teaching. In his capacity as tutor he was attached to 
the court, accompanying the Emperor on his expeditions against the 
Alamanni, there making the acquaintance of Symmachus (369), and 
writing poems at the Imperial bidding, amongst others the famous 
cento from Virgil. In it by ingeniously connecting a series of lines 
and half-lines and phrases from Virgil he constructed a series of 
hexameters on the subject allotted him—lI will not say a poem. 
The method was at best trivial, and the production a disgrace to 
its author as a scholar and a man. 

Before we speak of his Moselle, it may be well to survey his 
other attempts at literature. To his letters I shall return. He 
was essentially a man of learning, of more learning than taste, and 
like many Latin poets he liked to air it. He loved list-making 
and trick-versifying, weaving into rhyme everything that went 
by threes’ or by fours or by thirties, collecting all the monosyllabic 
nouns in the language, and making 130 lines of verse each ending 
in a monosyllable. “He has been at a great feast of languages 
and stolen the scraps,” and cooks them up into odd little messes 
of his own, very ingenious but hopelessly trifling. The rhythm 
of our Latin grammars 


a abs absque coram de 
palam clam cum ex et 6 


might have been his model. It is quite as poetical and every whit 
as valuable. ‘“ Thirty days hath September,” or a Latin variety of 
it, is one of its gems. A line a-piece to each of the Roman 
Emperors makes an historical poem. A catalogue of the cities of 


1 Tn this ‘*poem” (Griphus xvi.) there is a sort of accidental confession of 
faith. After Cerberus’ heads, the three Punic wars, the threefold nature of 
Scylla (dog, woman and fish) he magnificently concludes ter bibe: tris numerus 
super omnia, tris Deus unus. ‘*With three sips the Arian frustrate” represents 
surely a higher piety than this. 

8—2 


116 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


the Empire, a series of epitaphs for the heroes of the Trojan war, 
and a jingle about the Zodiac, five lines here on the Greek games, a 
summary there of the twelve labours of Hercules, are things he 
loves. Very many of his single lines are forceful or epigrammatic 
as may be, Claudius non faciendo nocens sed patiendo fuit: Titus 
was felix imperio felix brevitate regendi: admirable as_ historic 
summary, even as neat verse, but hardly poetry. So in his 
Moselle he cannot resist a list of the fishes found in the river, and 
we have the names of fifteen varieties. In the same spirit we have 
a hexameter letter cataloguing all the oysters he can remember, 
but a humorous letter and a poem are different. 

The Moselle was written in 370 or 371, when he was about 
sixty years of age. Itis his best werk—one might almost say his 
only good work, were it not for the kindliness and feeling of some 
parts of his Parentalia. It is a leisurely poem descriptive of the 
river and its waters, its transparent shallows, its pebble beds and 
swarms of fish, its banks with their vine-clad slopes and farm- 
crowned heights, the rustic rivalry of the peasants, the merry 
nonsense of boatman and wayfarer, the reflexion of everything in 
the water till the river seems in leaf, the boys in their boats playing 
at sea-fights or fishing, and so forth. The remarkable thing is his 
escape from the conventional view of nature common in his day. 
He does not exclusively contemplate the river as an adjunct to 
man’s environment, but takes a pleasure in it for itself. Take this 
picture and contrast it with similar scenes in the Greek novelists— 


cum vada lene meant, liquidarum et lapsus aquarum 

prodit caerulea dispersas luce figuras: 

quod sulcata levi crispatur harena meatu, 

inclinata tremunt viridi quod gramina fundo ; 

usque sub ingenuis agitatae fontibus herbae 

vibrantes patiuntur aquas lucetque latetque 

calculus et viridem distinguit glarea muscum. (61—7.) 


Or again— 


quis color ile vadis, seras cum propulit umbras 

Hesperus et viridi perfundit monte Mosellam ! 

tota natant crispis juga motibus, et tremit absens 

pampinus et vitreis vindemia turget in undis. (192—5.) 


These last two lines were particularly admired by Edward 
FitzGerald. The two passages shew the poet at his best. He is 
looking at nature at last, and, as he realizes her in his thought, 


Ausonius 117 


his language rises with his conception. His stream is a real 
stream, the water flows and the weeds are waving, we can see 
the ribbed sand and the gleam of the pebble; and, as so often 
in Virgil, the verse and the picture explain each other. 
Again, the lines are happy in which he describes “the village 

Hampdens” the stream has known— 

quin etiam mores et laetum fronte serena 

ingenium natura tuis concessit alumnis. 

nec sola antiquos ostentat Roma Catones 


aut unus tantum justi spectator et aequi 
pollet Aristides veteresque illustrat Athenas. (384—8.) 


Such passages by their music, their dignity, and their graciousness 
might warrant Symmachus in his daring comparison of their author 
with Virgil. But Ausonius pleased his friends, or at least himself, 
almost as much with that itch of his for petty scribbling (nostra illa 
poetica scabies) and the lists of triplets—if one may judge from the 
amount of such matter, though in justice to Symmachus it must be 
added that he gently quizzes his old friend about his fish. 

In 375 Valentinian died and was succeeded by Gratian, 
and Ausonius rose to glory and his house with him’. Between 
this date and 380 all the highest offices in the West were held 
among the family, and the laws of the time betray the genius of 
Ausonius. Laws were passed in favour of the literary and medical 
professions and in defence of monuments of ancient art. Sym- 
machus calls the poet consilii regii particeps, precum arbiter, legum 
conditor (Ep. i. 23), and indeed Ausonius’ very style has been 
recognized in the wording of some of the laws. His son and _son- 
in-law were given high office, and his father too became in extreme 
old age honorary prefect of Illyricum. Later on Ausonius was 
himself made prefect of the Gauls, and with this prefecture Italy 
was for a while united. ‘Towards the end of 379 he gave up his 
prefectures, but he had climbed still higher if possible, for he 
had given his name as consul to the year 379. As he managed 
in the years remaining to him to make a good many allusions to 
these distinctions, and obviously felt them to be the crown of his 
life, we may look into them. 

It was Diocletian who introduced the system of prefectures 
to secure the better administration of the Empire and maintain 

1 In what follows I have used Seeck’s Introduction to his Symmachus 


(pp. lxxix., lxxx.)—a wonderfully thorough piece of work (Monumenta Germaniae 
istorica). 


118 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


peace. The Roman world was divided into four prefectures—the 
East, Illyricum, Gaul, and Italy. The last two more closely concern 
us. Italy comprised the dioceses of Italy (in modern nomenclature 
Italy, the Tyrol, the Grisons, and South Bavaria), Illyricum proper 
(Austria between the Danube and the Adriatic, and Bosnia) and 
Africa (Algeria, Tunis, and Tripoli). Gaul included Spain (Spain and 
Morocco), the “Seven Provinces” (France up to the Rhine) and 
Britain (south of the Forth)’. It is thus seen that either prefecture 
was more than a modern Empire. Each was ruled by a praetorian 
prefect. This official in early days was a military officer in com- 
mand of the praetorian guard, but with time he had developed into 
a civilian from whose sphere the army was jealously kept. He 
stood in the highest grade of senatorial rank, and was an Jilustris. 
It was not generally a cheap thing to‘hold this rank; for though 
it gave immunity from local taxation, which was heavy enough, 
it involved other burdens, but from these retired civil servants, 
court physicians, and professors and a few others were relieved. 
This covered Ausonius. It may seem odd that professors should 
attain rank so high, but there was a reason, and to it we shall 
return. 

The praetorian prefect within his prefecture was a little Em- 
peror, responsible only to the Emperor himself, and the Emperor, 
by a law of Constantine, would hear no appeal against his decisions. 
Justice, finance, the coinage, the highways, the posts and the 
public granaries were under the prefect’s direct control. He could 
appoint or dismiss at will the governors of the provinces in his 
prefecture. These were not the old provinces of the Republic by 
any means. We have seen that each of the western prefectures 
had three dioceses (a word the Church has borrowed from the State 
amongst much else), and these again were subdivided into provinces. 
In the prefecture of Italy there were thirty provinces, and twenty- 
nine in that of Gaul. Well might Lactantius growl that the 
provinces were “snipped to scraps” Ausonius would thus have 
the appointment of fifty-nine provincial governors. While all other 
offices were annual it is easy to see why the Emperors should have 
preferred the prefect’s tenure to be very irregular, when the prefect 


_ 3 Claudian curiously gives us a metrical account of both Ausonius’ prefectures 
in his poem on the Consulship of Manlius Theodorus; Gaul in lines 50—47, 
and Italy in lines 198—205. Neither is very poetical. See Gibbon, vol. iii, 
p. 315; Hodgkin, Italy and her Invaders, i, 600 ff.; Bury, Later Roman Empire, 
i, 37. 

2 See p. 6. 


Ausonius 119 


was, as Dr Hodgkin sums it up, “a Prime Minister plus a Supreme 
Court of Appeal.” Eusebius puts it, that as he is to the Emperor, 
so is the Eternal Son to the Eternal Father’. (One hesitates to 
say which way the Bishop’s illustration is the more tremendous.) 

Apart from all this real power the trappings of office were mag- 
nificent. The prefect wore a purple cloak reaching to his knee 
(the Emperor’s went to his feet). He rode in a lofty chariot with 
four horses caparisoned in silver. He took precedence of every- 
body, and even the officers of the army bowed the knee to 
him. 

No doubt in an administration like that of the Empire which 
imprinted itself upon Europe, in many matters a prefect would 
only have to follow a routine, to approve what was done by the 
officials under him. It must also be remembered that the prefect’s 
work was not complicated by the necessity for any foreign policy, 
and that Rome’s idea was to allow the magistrate room to work, but 
not opportunity for excessive individuality. Yet it has been elicited 
by careful study of the Theodosian Code that a special arrangement 
was made to relieve Ausonius. His son Hesperius was in 377 prefect 
of Italy. In 378 Ausonius received the prefecture of the Gauls. 
Very soon both prefectures were united in the hands of Ausonius— 
nominally, while really the burden of both fell on Hesperius, willing 
enough, doubtless, to bear it for his father’s sake. When in the 
autumn of 379 Ausonius resigned the double duty, the prefectures 
were separated, Hesperius retaining his own’. 

The consulship however was Ausonius’ special joy. ΤῸ have 
one’s name added to a list nearly nine hundred years old, and to 
know that through eternity the year will be officially dated Awsonio 
Olybrio coss., must have quickened the dullest imagination, Of 
course it could be foreseen by no one how soon a new reckoning 
was to replace the old, and every Roman citizen believed in the 
eternity of Rome, even if Juvencus did say that like the rest of the 
world “golden Rome” would know an end some day. The consul- 
ship was by now a name and no more, involving social preeminence 
without practical power, but it was an object of ambition none the 
less. Who would refuse a dukedom without a pang? Julian tells 
us there is no one who would not consider it a prize (ζηλωτόν) to 
be named consul, for the honour of it per se reft of all else was 


1 Quoted by Bury, L. R. H. i. 48. 
2 See Seeck, Int. to Symmachus, p. lxxx. From Symm. Ep. i. 42, 2 it would 
seem Ausonius had felt his greatness a burden or had said so. 


190 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


as much as any power. It was a high title for an Emperor (ἄγαλμα 
καὶ κόσμος), so for a subject what must it have been’? At his 
inauguration the consul gave great games and festivals, after which 
he retired, as Gibbon says, “to enjoy during the rest of the year 
the undisturbed contemplation of his own dignity.” 

Ausonius was so much overwhelmed by his own glory that he 
thought of little else for long. He wrote a sort of panegyric, a 
Gratiarum Actio, to Gratian. He had panegyrised the Emperors 
before, but that speech is, I believe, lost. This one is senile and 
very grovelling. His consulship, thanks to Gratian, involved no 
canvass with awkward episodes of names forgotten ; no voting, no 
election, no bribery. ‘The Roman people, the Campus Martius, the 
knights, the rostrum, the booths, the Senate, the Senate-house—all 
were summed up in Gratian. Nay, more, the Emperor had written 
a letter—honour above honours !—and had actually said he was 
paying a debt in making Ausonius consul—‘“O gilded saying of 
a golden mind!” (O mentis aureae dictum bratteatum). He con- 
trasts himself with other Imperial tutors, is very unfair to Seneca, 
and remarks that Fronto was consul merely for two months in 
somebody else’s year; and in any case he “prefers a Gratian to 
an Antonine.” He rapturously analyses the Emperor’s letter—its 
style and its kindness, and when he comes to Gratian’s instructions 
that he is to wear Constantine’s robes, his joy knows no bounds. He 
was an old man, and had bred the Emperor from a child of five; 
so we must try to forgive him. 

It is a little hard to-day to understand why the Emperors 
attached so much importance to so obviously inflated and ex- 
travagant panegyrics, and consequently to the rhetoricians and 
professors who made them. ‘The explanation lies in the fact that, 
as Julian and others who discoursed on monarchy put it, the 
goodwill of his subjects is the strongest buttress for a monarch. 
In the absence of a press subsidized by government, the panegyric 
eonciliated public opinion, toned down awkward facts, emphasized 
the advantages the Emperor daily conferred on his people, extolled 
his character, his kindliness, his prowess, his glory, and, above all, 
brought out the fact that there never had been an Emperor like 
him*. (Also we may be sure there were Emperors who were able 
to accept the most tasteless flattery, the supply creating a demand.) 


1 Cod. Theod. ix. 40, 17 (xvi. Kal. Febr. Theodoro Cons.), the edict on Eutro- 
pius, speaks of divinum praemium consulatus. 
2 So Schiller, Gesch. der r. Kaiserzeit, ii. 447. 


Ausonius 121 


Such a panegyric would circulate as a pamphlet, and as the public 
taste was for rhetoric, and here it was at its most rhetorical, we can 
see how valuable the rhetorician was to an Emperor. This explains 
in part? the deference paid by Julian and others to Libanius, and 
the high regard the class had in general. In 392 a professor, 
Eugenius, was actually made Emperor by Arbogast the Frank, 
who modestly thought the world was not ripe for a Frankish 
Emperor. Even to-day we see millionaires testifying to the in- 
fluence of professors by removing them if they hold by free trade 
or free silver or any other uncongenial heresy, but as a rule the 
money goes to-day to buying the press» How much exactly man- 
kind has gained by having the press instead of the professor to 
mould its views, we may leave optimists to compute. 

The rest of the life of Ausonius need not detain us long. Gratian 
passed under the influence of a much stronger man—Ambrose of 
Milan—and met his tragic death in 383 at Lyons. Maximus’, 
his murderer, held his court awhile at Tréves, where Ausonius was. 
The poet may have witnessed the sufferings of Priscillian and his 
followers, among them the widow and daughter of a former professor 
of Bordeaux. One wonders whether he met St Martin, and if they 
did meet what the rather lukewarm professor and the very militant 
saint thought of each other. But Ausonius may have got safely 
back to Bordeaux before Maximus had to deal with either Priscillian 
or Martin. At all events at Bordeaux he spent his declining years, 
versifying as ever. ‘I'heodosius demanded verse of him, and he 
wrote it—not that he had anything to say, but Caesar’s bidding 
was inspiration enough. (‘Iheodosius was not a man to be trifled 


1 Symm. i. 20 (to Ausonius), iter ad capessendos magistratus saepe litteris 
promovetur. At the same time there seems to have been some genuine respect 
for learning, in spite of Ammianus’ gloomy views. 

2 The position of a professor does not seem to be as secure in the United 
States asin England. The millionaire founder is too fond at times of having 
his own views taught. 

% See Sulpicius, Dial. ii. 6; iii. 11 on Maximus, p. 291 f. Ausonius only 
alludes to him in congratulating Aquileia on having seen his end: 


solveret exacto cui sera piacula lustro 
Maximus, armigeri quondam sub nomine lixa, 
feliz quae tanti speculatrix laeta triumphi 
punisti Ausonio Rutupinum Marte latronem. 


Ordo Urbium 9. 
Rutupiae, Maximus’ native place, is Richborough, near Sandwich, in Kent. 


If he had succeeded, Ausonius might have accepted him as Symmachus un- 
happily had already. 


122 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


with—blando vis latet imperio.) His profession is at least in- 
genuous 


non habeo ingenium: Caesar sed jussit, habebo. 


He was still busy with extracts, towrs de force, “ April, June, and 
dull November,” but we shall find it more interesting to turn to 
his correspondence. 

I am afraid the letters of Ausonius can hardly be called very 
interesting. Some are better than others, but as a rule he has 
little to say and spends all his energies on his phraseology. Pliny’s 
was the first great series of letters written for publication, which 
has reached us. After his day letter-writing became a regular 
branch of rhetoric, and letters are no longer so much letters as a 
form of literary parade. ‘he nine hundred letters of Symmachus 
are characterized according to Gibbon by a “ luxuriancy, consisting 
in barren leaves without fruits and even without flowers.” Such 
a criticism would no doubt have shocked their amiable author, but 
it is just and applies to most of the surviving collections of the 
day, apart from the theologians’ epistles which are often in reality 
treatises. 

The correspondence of Ausonius (if I may borrow an epigram 
of the combination room) is “like Hollandaise sauce—a lot of 
butter and no flavour.” Ausonius compliments Symmachus, and 
is very modest: and Symmachus is very modest and compliments 
Ausonius, till the reader feels that Symmachus for once has, in one 
of his apologies, hit the nail on the head— Videbor mutwum scabere. 
“Come and see me and bring a cart load of Pierian furniture (list 
herewith)” is the burden of a number of these letters—the 
characters figuring as ‘‘ Cadmus’ brunettes” (Cadmi nigellae jiliae, 
Cadmi filiolis atricoloribus). We must except from this condem- 
nation the letters above-mentioned to his father on his son’s birth 
and to his grandson. ΤῸ these may be added the letter to Paulinus 
about the steward who, after failing in his proper duties, has gone 
off trading, “enriching himself and impoverishing me” (se ditat 
et me pauperat), and has got into trouble-at Hebromagum. Here 
at all events Ausonius had something to say at last. 

But most interesting after all is the group which ends the 
volume—the correspondence with Paulinus. Paulinus was a 
favourite pupil of Ausonius, on which M. Boissier cruelly remarks 
“On n’est guére disposé aujourd’hui ἃ l’en féliciter,” but he himself 


Ausonius 123 


théught it had been his making’. Certainly he owed his consulship 
to Ausonius’ influence. He was a distinguished literary man as 
things went; his only fault was, according to Boissier, to be 
“eternal”; and in every way all promised well for his future. 
Whether it were his Spanish wife Therasia, or the influence of 
St Martin that was to blame, he suddenly forsook the world. He 
withdrew first to Spain and then to Italy, where he settled by 
the tomb of St Felix at Nola and wrote a birthday ode to the saint 
every year. Ausonius was puzzled to imagine what could have 
induced a man who had drawn so much from him thus to abandon 
all that during nearly eighty years had been to himself the interest 
and the worth of life*. He had left the Muses—for what? Ausonius 
wrote him letter after letter in a rambling, senile, affectionate way 
to win him back: picturing agreeably enough his own joy when 
his prodigal returns, and rather querulously asking why he was 
treated so. Well he might, for no answer came for some years, 
as his letters had gone astray (a curious illustration of the rather 
haphazard postal service of the day for private people)”. 

At last we hear from Paulinus, who explains the mishap to 
Ausonius’ letters, and then sets forth why he has forsaken the 
world—mens nova mi, fateor, mens non mea. He writes kindly 
but clearly—and at enormous length. He has found something 
Ausonius’ Muses could not give. He has learnt that life means 
more than an opportunity to versify Suetonius, as he had been 
doing in a desultory way. He owes Ausonius more than he can 
say—let Ausonius then be glad he has trained a servant for Christ. 
Rhetoric and rhyming have their place, but they cannot save the 
soul ; that lies beyond a professor’s power, and still it is life’s end. 
So long as he lives, he must live for Christ, and prepare for the 
great day of the coming of the Lord. For “He who sits on the 
eternal Father’s throne at His right hand, is set as a King over 
all, and, when the years have passed, He shall come to judge all 
nations with equal justice.” This thought, he says, haunts him, 
as we know it did Sulpicius, his friend and correspondent, who 


1 Τὸ was a friendship of the second generation, as their fathers had been 
friends before them. Lp. 27, 106. 

2 The Christian leaders of the day understood Paulinus better and heralded 
him as a great example; see Ambrose, Ep. 58, etc. 

3 Synesius’ correspondence may also illustrate this, Ep. 123: Syn. was for 
two years away from home and the letters of Troilus were not forwarded to him 
but awaited his return. Ep. 129, Syn.’s letters to Pylaemenes (in Constanti- 
nople) went to Alexandria (probably the proper way) and after being held there 
or sent astray for a year came back to their writer in Cyrene. 


124 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


fell into millenarism, and the poet Prudentius, who again and 
again tells of the Last Judgment. He fears lest his soul, 


st forte recluso 
increpitet tuba vasta polo, non possit in auras 
regis ad occursum levibus se tollere pinnis 
inter honora volans sanctorum milia caelo. 


If his course pleases Ausonius, let him congratulate his pupil; if 
not, Christo tantum me linque probari. 

What Ausonius may have thought of this response, we are not 
told. I doubt if he could have really understood the mind of his 
friend at all. Paulinus was not a great man by any means—a dull, 
wordy, worthy creature. Yet the weight in the correspondence 
lies with him, and one feels at once the contrast between the 
amiable inanity of the old poet and the glowing devotion of the 
younger man. Ausonius stood for the past, so far as he understood 
himself. But a new spirit was at work in the world, and a new 
age was beginning. Prudentius represents this new age best among 
his contemporaries; and whether one weigh them as makers of 
music, as poets, as thinkers, or as men, Prudentius is greater than 
Ausonius every way. Hippocrene was exhausted, and the poets, if 
they are to serve mankind, must go to Jordan’. 

Yet, with all his amiable doggerel and list-making, Ausonius 
has been set down as the first of French poets, as Sulpicius is of 
French prose-writers, for after all he wrote the Moselle. 


1 I may be allowed to adapt Fuller’s happy epigram on Sternhold and 
Hopkins, who had ‘‘drunk more deep of Jordan than of Helicon.” Juvencus 
had already prayed that his mind might be sprinkled with the pure waters of 
dulcis Jordanis, but, as all his readers know, he had drunk almost.as deep of 
Mincius. 


CHAPTER VI 


WOMEN PILGRIMS 


Non Hierosolymis fuisse sed Hierosolymis bene vixisse laudandum est. 
JEROME, Ep. lviii. 1 


THE pilgrim movement of the fourth century was not un- 
heralded. From the days of the earliest Greek mariners, who explored 
the new world of Italy and Sicily and voyaged to the old world of 
the Nile, a never-ceasing series of travellers had given their tales to 
mankind. ‘The conquests of Alexander had thrown open fresh 
regions for adventure, and when the Romans with the widening of 
their empire came more and more under the influence of Greek 
literature, travel was at once safe and suggestive. ‘The scenes of 
the Trojan war, and of the great wars of historical Greece, the spots 
hallowed by memories of Socrates, of Euripides and the famous 
names of the past, the monuments of ancient art and not least the 
holy places, where for generations men had by the mysteries found 
access to the unseen, all drew to themselves the more thoughtful 
and cultured among the Romans. Nor were the motives that took 
men abroad only those of the sight-seer, the scholar and the pious 
antiquary. New cults, which had not the associations of ancient 
Greece, now and again prescribed the penitential pilgrimage. 
Germanicus and Hadrian wandered in the course of their official 
progresses to one and another famous place, and from time to time 
were initiated into the ancient mysteries of Eleusis or Samothrace. 
Against this nothing could be justly said, but it was another thing 
when the priests of Isis bade Roman ladies go to the far bounds of 
Egypt and fetch waters from burning Meroe to sprinkle in the 
goddess’ shrine in Rome’. 


1 Juvenal vi. 527. 


196 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


The novels of the early centuries of our era, if they do not aim 
at presenting the life of their time, at least betray some of its 
interests. Their scenes and dates are vague, but their adventures 
and travels are vivid. Pirates and Ethiopians and hair-breadth 
"scapes crowd one another in quick succession. It is a poor heroine 
who is never kidnapped. So we range from T'yre to Alexandria and 
far beyond, and meet strange men with black hearts and black faces, 
and the heroine comes home unscathed. And every here and there 
the divine is introduced with a lavish hand, and thunders and 
lightnings and inspired dreams avert many an awful crisis. Stories 
like that of Apuleius are less common, good novels perhaps being a 
small minority in every age. The popular taste demands a certain 
style of fiction, and so it leaves behind it evidence on which posterity 
will condemn it. The novels are poor but they prove the interest 
felt in travel. 

How easy, as compared with former days, travel was under the 
early Empire, is shewn by the rapid spread of Christianity’. There 
was universal peace, the great roads were kept in repair and free 
from brigands, one rule and two languages were universal instead of 
the many formerly prevailing, and Christians passed quietly in their 
obscurity from shore to shore. Their story was new and for the 
present, for the end of the world was at hand ; and though, as time 
went on, it included more of the future, it had hardly as yet a past 
to waken historic sentiment. And quite apart from this, the 
Christian world had scant leisure for retrospect. Men and women 
had ever to be ready for sudden travel, but it was to escape perse- 
cution, and wherever it scattered them they were more prompted 
to preach than to dream. Still as early as 212 a man, Alexander 
by name, is recorded to have made a journey from Cappadocia to 
Jerusalem to pray and to study the geography of “the places*. m 
A little later (about 216) Origen, commenting on St John i. 28, 
remarks that “he is convinced the right reading is not Bethany but 
Bethabara, for he has visited the places to follow out the footsteps 
of Jesus and His disciples and the prophets*.” In his reply to 
Celsus, he appeals to the evidence of the cave and manger of 
Bethlehem, which would seem to imply that he had seen them‘, 


1 See Ramsay, St Paul the Traveller and the Roman Citizen, p. 352, for an 
interesting account of Roman Imperial policy in promoting ease of communica- 
tion within the Empire. 

2 Eusebius, Eccles. Hist. vi. 11. 

“8 Origen, Comm. Joh. tom. vi. 24 (40). 

4. Origen, in Celsum, i. 51. 


Women Pilgrims 127 


With the victory of Constantine a new age began, an age of more 
freedom and also in general of less spirituality. Foreign ideas had 
filtered already into the Church, now they streamed in, and the 
Christian was almost directed (in spite of such men as Augustine) 
to the external. . 

Christianity had given women a new honour in the world and a 
new outlook on life. From the first it was asserted that in Christ 
was neither male nor female, and though the Church in deference 
to old prejudice frowned on her performing some of the more exalted 
Christian duties, forbidding her the priestly office and trying to 
discredit the story of Thecla’s baptisms’, woman took her place with 
man in the maintenance and the extension of the faith by martyr- 
dom and Christian living. The Church delighted to contrast the 
swarms of Christian virgins with the reluctant though well-paid 
Vestals*, and it was in virginity that woman’s great opportunity 
seemed to lie. It had taken asceticism some three centuries to 
capture the Church, a clear proof in a world, which could con- 
ceive of no other type of holiness, that it was not the original con- 
ception of the Church’s Founder and His immediate followers. 

While more than one of the great Fathers found it desirable to 
write treatises on the dress, the veils and the general deportment 
of Christian women devoted to the celibate life*, it was not till the 
fourth century that there appeared so ardent a pleader for the 
convent and the extreme rigour of asceticism as St Jerome. The 
saint was a great scholar but a greater rhetorician. Rhetoric indeed 
formed a large part of the training of all the fathers of this century, 
but Jerome’s rhetoric has neither the idle wordiness of Paulinus 
nor the spiritual intensity of Augustine. He has no lack of ideas, 
but they are generally apt to be superficial. He was rhetorician 
rather than scholar, and scholar rather than thinker. 

Jerome is never so copious or so coloured as when he dilates on 
the glory of celibacy and the poverty, the pettiness and the ignominy 
of married life. There can be little doubt that the life of Pagan 
society in Rome was a dull round of splendour. It had culture, it 
had wealth, it had splendid lineages, but it lacked inspiration, life 
and perhaps intelligence’, But it is of Christian society that 


1 Cf. Tertullian, de Bapt. 17. 

2 Ε.ᾳ. Prudentius, adv. Symm. ii. 1063 and following. 

3 See Benson, Cyprian τ. xii. p. 51 f. 

4 In Ammianus Marcellinus we read an indictment of Roman society, as 
scathing as anything of St Jerome’s and more amusing (xiv. 6; xxviii. 4). The 
letters of Symmachus shew us Rome from within, a weary spectacle. 


128 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Jerome speaks so harshly. “I would not have you consort with 
matrons,” he writes to Eustochium, aged seventeen’, “I would not 
have you approach the houses of nobles; I would not have you often 
see what in contempt you renounced to remain a virgin... Will you, 
the spouse of God, hasten to the wife of aman? Learn here a holy 
pride; know you are better than they. Nor do I desire you to 
avoid those alone, who are puffed up by their husbands’ glories, 
whom flocks of eunuchs surround, and in whose clothes mines of 
gold beaten to thread are woven; but avoid those too, whom 
necessity, and not their choice, has made widows—not that they 
should have wished their husbands to die, but that they did not 
gladly catch at the chance of a life of purity. Though they have 
changed their garb, their pride is unchanged. Before their litters 
march the ranks of eunuchs ; their rouged cheeks and their plump- 
ness suggest, not that they have lost, but that they are looking for 
husbands. Their houses are full of flatterers, full of banquets...” 
and he goes on to say the flatterers are clergy kept by a retaining 
fee. He sums up his position toward marriage, a little below;— 
“T praise marriage, I praise wedlock, but because they bear me 
virgins ; I gather from the thorn the rose, from the earth the gold, 
from the shell the pearl’.” A married woman may thus rise to be 
“mother-in-law of God” (socrus Dei). 

The woman then who would live the perfect life must be a 
virgin, and more, a nun secluded from the world and knowing only 
the cloister and the church. In one of his letters (cvii.) Jerome 
sketches the education he would wish given to a little girl dedicated 
by her parents to the nunnery from her birth. ‘The little Paula 
must not learn worldly songs (probably nursery jingles) but the 
Psalms. Her only play is to be with wooden or ivory letters of the 
alphabet. She is to be gently taught to read and love books, but 
she must not use baby-words (dimidiata verba)* or wear gold or 
purple. A grave nurse must teach her to chant Alleluia to her 
grandfather*. Her ears are not to be pierced for ear-rings, her face 
must know no white lead or rouge or any other cosmetic, her 
neck no gold or pearls, her head no gem, her hair no red dye—all 

1 Jerome, Ep. xxii. 16. 

2 Td. ib. 20. 

3 A celibate view, with which contrast Minucius Felix 2. 1 et quod est in 
liberis amabilius adhuc annis innocentibus et adhuc dimidiata verba temptantibus, 
loquellam ipso offensantis linguae fragmine dulciorem. 

- 4 He was a pagan, a friend of Symmachus, Publilius Caeionius Caecina 


Albinus by name, and he appears in Macrobius’ Saturnalia, See Seeck, Sym- 
machus, pp. elxxv.—clxxx. 


Women Pilgrims 129 


which things savour of hell. Her only walk is to be to church. 
She is not to eat before strangers, and she should drink no wine. 
Musical instruments she must not touch. Latin and Greek, reading 
and praying, psalm-learning and wool-work (not silk or embroidery) 
should afford her day variety. Perhaps she had better not have 
baths at all, for it is not pleasant for her to see herself unrobed'. 
How can all this be managed? It would be hard in Rome, so the 
little maid had better be despatched to her grandmother and aunt in 
Bethlehem, Paula and Eustochium. 

The life here pictured might in time be tedious for a scholar. 
The monks of the middle ages found it so. What must it have 
been for a child, for a young girl? ‘There is pleasure in the healthy 
exercise of a natural function, and beings created to be active must 
have chafed under such a vegetable life. One woman, of whom 
St Jerome tells us’, could not face it. Her name was Fabiola and 
she was twice married. On the death of the second husband she 
sold all and “was the first of women to found a hospital (νοσοκομεῖον), 
in which to gather the sick from the streets and cherish poor folks’ 
bodies wasted by sickness and hunger.’’ She nursed them herself 
awhile and then suddenly astonished people by going off to Jeru- 
salem. Another, Paulina, daughter of the more famous Paula, built 
a ξενοδόχιον or guest-house in Portus’. 

But a more frequent resource to escape the dulness of secular 
or religious life in Rome was the pilgrimage. Movement, change of 
scene, novel situations and fresh society must have been salvation 
to many a weary soul—from stagnation at least and perhaps from 
loss of reason or character. It may be permissible to say that the 
pilgrimage involved a certain amount of masculine society, if it were 
only that of Egyptian monks. At times it would mean adventure 
and real danger and a military guard. Beyond such motives, 
however, there were higher ones, a genuine interest in following 
intelligently the life of our Lord in the land where He had lived, 
and in marking every spot associated with any episode of His 
history ; a desire to meditate and to pray with the impress on one’s 
mind of the holy places, where so many great ones of the past had 
_ prayed and had been heard ; a feeling that ‘‘it was part of the faith 

to worship where the feet of the Lord had stood, and to see as if in 
all their freshness the traces of the nativity, the Cross and the 


1 A monkish fancy shared by Antony and Amun according to the novelist 
(V. Ant. 47. 60). 
2 Ep. lxxvii. 6. 3 Ep. ixvi. 11. 


G. 9 


130 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


passion.” Thus were combined the student’s hope to understand 
and the mystic’s to enter more fully into the life of the Lord. Over 
and above all this, we must remember that honour was being 
directed more and more to saints and martyrs everywhere, that 
prayer was paid at their shrines and martyries, and that their aid 
was reckoned a factor in the spiritual life. And further a 
suspicious importance began to attach to relics of the saints, and 
the pilgrim to the East was often able to collect them. For 
example, Cyril of Jerusalem*® and Paulinus of Nola both testify 
to the practice of pilgrims taking away fragments of the Holy Cross, 
the latter assuring us that the wood miraculously replenishes itself. 
~ St Silvia tells us incidentally of one covetous man who made a 
pretext of kissing the cross and surreptitiously bit out a mouthful 
as a relic‘. pein 

Of St Jerome’s own residence in Palestine and of the visit paid 
to him at Bethlehem by Sulpicius’ friend Postumian, I do not here 
speak. My subject is rather the pilgrimages of women, and I have 
to deal with Melania, with Paula and her daughter Eustochium, 
and especially with St Silvia of Aquitaine. All these were in 
Palestine between 381 and 388, and by comparing their stories we 
may get a clearer idea of the spirit of their times. 

Melania® was a Roman lady of noble origin, the daughter and 
granddaughter of Consuls. She early “suffered marriage” and was 
soon a mother. After a few years of married life, she lost her 
husband, and before he was cold or, at least, buried, two of three 
sons also died. “1 am going,” says St Jerome, “to tell a thing 
incredible, but, before Christ, true. Not a tear-drop fell; she 
stood immovable, and falling at Christ’s feet, as she were laying hold 
on Him Himself, she smiled. ‘More easily,’ said she, ‘can I serve 
thee now, O Lord, in that thou hast relieved me of so great a 


>» 


burden’.” She came to Rome with one surviving infant boy, whom 


1 Jerome, Ep. xlvii. 2. 

2 Cf. Prudentius, περὶ cred. xii. 59, on pilgrims to St Peter and St Paul in 
Rome; and Sulpicius Severus, Dial. i. 3 loca visitare sanctorum et praecipue ad 
sepulcrum Cypriani martyris adorare. 

3 Cyril Jer. Catech. Ill. x. 19; xiii. 4; and Paulinus, Ep. xxxi. 6. 

4 Dio Cassius 51. 16 says that at Alexandria Augustus saw the body of 
Alexander the Great and broke off a piece of the nose. This story, most 
probably untrue, yet shews the early prevalence of the passion for keepsakes. 
Jerome, In ὁ. 23 Matth. l. iv. says such things as fragments of the Cross or 
little gospels were worn as amulets by superstitiosae mulierculae after the 
manner of the ancient Pharisees. (Neander.) 

® Her name is variously given as Melanius, Melania and Melanium. See 
Paulinus, Ep. xxix.; Jerome, Epp. xxxix. 4; xlv. 4; and Chron. ad an. Christi 
377 for her story. 


Women Pilgrims 131 


“she flung into the bosom of Christ,” says Paulinus. Jeromé more 
prosaically says she left him to the Praetor Urbanus, after trans- 
ferring her property to him’, Then, though friends opposed and it 
was the middle of winter, she set sail for the East, taking Egypt 
on her way to Jerusalem, and there she stayed for some five and 
twenty years (374—399). Her virtues, of which humility was the 
chief, won her the name of a new Thecla. She lived through the 
Arian persecution of Valens, who fell at. Adrianople in 378; she 
was arrested but dismissed from the court, and fed large numbers 
of monks through the troublous days*. When Jerome came to the 
East, she lived in close friendship with him and Paula, avoiding baths 
and unguents, and practising fasting and filthiness. At the end of 
_the century she returned to Italy, and after landing at Naples went 
to Nola, where Paulinus says her arrival caused a great sensation, a 
great throng of people in purple and silk escorting her in her rags. 
She gave Paulinus a tunic of lamb’s wool, and he read to her 
Sulpicius’ life of St Martin, from which she might have learned that 
even at home life might be lived well. The tunic and part of a 
fragment of the true cross, given her by John bishop of Jerusalem, 
were passed on to Sulpicius. This “woman, if so manly a Christian 
may be called a woman’,” lived some twenty years longer, probably 
in Palestine. 

Melania’s departure to Palestine attracted much attention in 
Rome, but perhaps even more was excited by Paula who left there 
in 382—3. Paula* was the daughter of Rogatus, who claimed a 
proud descent from Agamemnon, and of Blaesilla, as proudly 
descended from Scipios and Gracchi. She was married at sixteen 
to Julius Toxotius, a descendant of Aeneas and the Julii, who, as 
became one sprung from Venus, was true to paganism. She bore 
him five children, four girls and a boy, and then he died, leaving 
her for a while inconsolable, till she turned to the religious life. In 


1 Antony (Vita Ant. 36) represented μνήμη τῶν οἰκείων as actually a temptation 
of the devil. Sulpicius (Dial. i. 22) has a tale confirming this, how the devil 
tempted a monk to return and convert his wife and son. 

2 A footnote of Gibbon’s may be transcribed (vol. iv. p. 316): ‘‘The monk 
Pambo made a sublime answer to Melania who wished to specify the value of 
her gift :—Do you offer it to me, or to God? If to God, He who suspends the 
mountains in a balance need not be informed of the weight of your plate. 
(Pallad. h. Laus. 10.)” 

8. The phrase is borrowed from Paulinus. Cf. Porphyry, ad Marcellam c. 33, 
μηδὲ γυναῖκα ἴδῃς σαυτήν. 

4 Jerome, Hp. cviii. 3 and following. Also xlv. 4 Nullae aliae Romanae 
urbi fabulam praebuerunt nisi Paula et Melanium, quae contemptis facultatibus, 
pignoribusque desertis, crucem Domini quasi quoddam pietatis levavere vexillum, 


9--2 


189 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


382 a synod of bishops from East and West was held in Rome 
under Pope Damasus, and intercourse with some of these gave 
Paula new ideas, and “she yearned to go to the desert of the Pauls 
and the Antonies.” Her eldest daughter was dead, the second 
married, and the third Eustochium practically dedicated to virginity, 
but the fourth was of marriageable age and had no mind for celibacy 
and joined with the son, the little Toxotius, in imploring their 
mother to stay, at least for a while. “Yet she raised dry eyes to 
heaven and overcame love of children with love of God. She knew 
not she was a mother, that she might prove herself Christ’s hand- 
maid.” 

Before following her on her journey, we may learn her feelings 
from a letter she wrote’. She was obeying, so she said, the teaching 
of Scripture, wherein God had said to Abraham, “Get thee out from 
thy country.” Had Christ not loved Jerusalem, He had never wept 
over it. The Ark of the Covenant has indeed passed from it, but 
the Lord’s sepulchre is there ; “and as often as we enter it, we see 
the Saviour there, lying in the linen; and if we wait a while, we 
see the Angel sitting at His feet, and at His head the napkin rolled 
together.” ‘In every place we venerate the tombs of the martyrs, 
and ‘put the sacred ashes to our eyes, and if we may we touch them 
with our lips too.” How many holy men have felt they had not 
received “the finishing touch in virtue, unless they had adored 
Christ in those places, whence first the Gospel had gleamed from the 
cross”? And what can be said of the place of the Nativity? 

So to the Holy Land she went and left her son behind in Rome 
—to grow up a staunch heathen. If in later life he became a 
Christian (a point not certain), he did not owe his conversion to 
his mother. Paula sailed away, passed between Scylla and 
Charybdis, and threaded Virgil’s Cyclades— 


sparsasque per aequor 
Cycladas, et crebris...freta consita terris®. 


At last she reached Antioch, and “the noble lady, who had 
once been borne on the hands of eunuchs, set out on a donkey.” 


1 This is printed among St Jerome’s letters, Ep. xlvi. 

_ ? Jerome quotes the Aeneid iii. 126. When the Angel with the scourge told 
him “ Ciceronianus es, non Christianus,’’ nothing luckily was said about Virgil 
(Ep. xxii, 30). See Comparetti, Vergil in the Middle Ages, tr. pp. 82—3 for the 
saint’s fluctuation in his feelings about the poet. In the short account of the 
ΠῚ τ τ ΠΝ I have made a mosaic of pieces from Ep. eviii. especially 


Women Pilgrims 133 


Sarepta and Elijah’s tower, the sands of Tyre where Paul had knelt, 
Megiddo, Caesarea and the house of Cornelius and the rooms where 
Philip’s four daughters slept, Joppa whence Jonah sailed and where 
(though this is another story’) Andromeda was tied to the rock, 
Beth-horon, Aijalon, Gibeon,—all these and other places she saw, 
and came to Jerusalem, where “prostrating herself before the cross, 
she worshipped as though she saw the Lord hanging there.” ‘She 
entered the tomb of resurrection, and kissed the stone the angel 
rolled away ; and the actual place where the Lord had lain, as one 
thirsty coming to waters long prayed for, she licked with a believer’s 
mouth.” She ranged over Palestine, passed through Egypt to the 
Nitrian desert and threw herself at the feet of the monks, to whom 
she gave gifts as to the Lord. ‘Though she would have liked to 
stay with them, she returned to Bethlehem to build cells and 
lodgings for pilgrims by the road where Mary and Joseph found 
no shelter. ‘This was her rest because it was the birthplace of 

her Lord. Here she continued till her death, reading the Bible in 
Hebrew and Greek, afflicting herself with various austerities, and 
doing despite to the face which, against God’s precept, she had 
formerly decorated with all sorts of cosmetics. It was her prayer 
that she might die a beggar, and at last she attained what she 
wished and left her daughter deeply in debt, ‘“‘as she still is, though 
she hopes, not by her own strength, but of Christ’s mercy, to be 
able to pay.” 

When we pass from Paula to Silvia, there is a marked relaxation 
of tension. We are out of the region of extravagance and hysterics, 
and in the company of a lady who is quiet and has no rhetoric. It 
must be premised, however, that we are on less certain ground, for 
it may be that we are dealing not with a single person but with two. 
The case stands thus. There exists a considerable part of a narrative 

of three years’ residence and travel in and about Palestine. It is 
avowedly written by a woman, seemingly from Gaul, for she comes 
“from the ends of the earth,” she compares the Euphrates and the 
wash of its waters with the Rhone, the Red Sea with the Ocean, and 
its fish with those of the “Italic sea.” She held some office in a 
monastery, to the sisters of which she wrote; her journey ended in 
Constantinople where she was detained for some unspecified reason ; 


1 Ut aliquid perstringam de fabulis poetarum says Jerome. See Dr G. A. 
Smith, Hist. Geography of the Holy Land, pp. 162—4, on the linking of Andro- 
- meda’s dragon to St George, and of St George to England, the whole story 
centring at Lydda a little way up the country. 


184 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


and the courtesy and attention shewn her by military authorities in 
Egypt suggest that she was a person of some consideration. In view 
of all these facts Gamurrini, who discovered the manuscript in 1884, 
identified her with St Silvia of Aquitaine, who was in the East at 
the very same time as our pilgrim shews that she was, and whose 
brother was Rufinus, minister of the Emperors Theodosius and 
Arcadius at Constantinople from 384 to 396. When this man was 
murdered in 396, his widow and daughter were despatched to 
Jerusalem. Such a connexion would explain the ease of our 
pilgrim’s travels and her lingering at the capital. The identification 
has been generally accepted, though Dr Bernard points out a curious 
little divergency. The pilgrim of the manuscript remarks that 
because it was impossible to ride up Mt Sinai, she had to go up on 
foot (Ms p. 32), but the St Silvia of Pailadius boasted she never was 
carried, Again, this Silvia, he says, never bathed, but our pilgrim 
does not betray personal asceticism. We may also remark that 
while the Silvia of Palladius was “ἃ most learned lady,” and read 
Origen and Basil and so forth, and while for her Rufinus of Aquileia’ 
made a translation into Latin of the Clementine Recognitions, our 
pilgrim, though very well read in Scripture* and well informed in 
sacred geography and much interested in ritual, wrote a Latin so 
barbarous and so ungainly as to suggest that her literary attain- 
ments were slight indeed. Accordingly, if we agree that our pilgrim 
is St Silvia, we must bear in mind that her own narrative deals only 
with her travels in the East where we find her first at the foot of 
Sinai, and that all other knowledge of her connexions and subsequent 
history comes from outside sources. 


Aquitaine was in the fourth century, and indeed later, one of ; 


the most cultured and most Roman of all lands of the Empire. 
The names of Ausonius and Sulpicius Severus stand for much in 
the history of the century’s literature, and a brightness and a clear 
air hang over their country. From Elusa (Eauze), the poet Claudian 
tells us, came Rufinus and therefore presumably his sister. Of her 
early life we know nothing, but if we trust Palladius she was born 
somewhere about the date of the Nicene Council 325, for she says 
(according to him) that she was in her sixtieth year when travelling 
in Egypt. She herself tells us why she took her pilgrimage to 


1 Not her brother, but a man set over a convent of fifty virgins established 
by Melania in Jerusalem. 

2 It may be remarked that she shews no trace of Jerome’s revision of the 
Latin Bible. So Dr Bernard on St Silvia, p. 34. 


νον. ee ἀκ... 


Women Pilgrims 135 


Palestine. She went to pray (orationis gratia, pp. 44, 47, 55) at 
the bidding of God (jubente deo, p. 40), and also to learn for herself 
(tune ergo ego, ut sum satis curiosa, requirere cepi, p. 46). She 
regarded it as a mark of divine grace that she was able to go so far 
and see so much—‘‘though I ought ever to give thanks to God in 
all things, I will not say how much in the case of all that He has 
bestowed on me in counting me worthy, unworthy and undeserving 
as I am, to travel through all these places far beyond my merit” 
(p. 36). On the way home, she says, “1 crossed the sea to 
Constantinople thanking Christ our God that to me unworthy and 
undeserving He had deigned to give such grace, that is, not only 
the will to go, but had deigned to give the power to traverse what 
I would and to return again to Constantinople” (p. 55). 

The record of her outward journey is lost, if it ever existed, but 
our last referenge may give us a hint. here were various possible 
routes from Aquitaine to Palestine. Sulpicius Severus’ friend, 
Postumian, sailed from Narbonne to Africa, visiting Cyprian’s grave 
at Carthage, and from there to Alexandria. ‘The first sail took him 
four to five days, the second longer, for they had to land somewhere 
on the coast under stress of weather, and from there they had a 
voyage of seven days. Thence to Jerome at Bethlehem and back, 
and then to the Nitria and Sinai, But Silvia’s expressions’ and her 
account of her visits to all the churches and shrines of Constanti- 
nople on her return, shew that it had been her starting-point for 
her eastern journey. 

While of course she could have gone to Constantinople by sea, 
it is interesting to note that another pilgrim from her country has 
left us a record of his long overland route from Bordeaux to Jeru- 
salem. Who he was is not known, but he dates his pilgrimage by 
the consuls of 333, and gives the name of every stopping-place on 
his way and occasional summaries of distances in miles—in leagues 
from Bordeaux to T'oulouse*. He passed through Silvia’s town of 
Elusa, and she may have followed his route—this of course is mere 
conjecture. Picking out the points at which he adds up his miles, 
we find he went by Arles, Milan, Aquileia, Sirmium (Mitrowitza), 
Serdica (Sophia) and so to Constantinople, and he reckons that so 
far he travelled 2221 miles, and made 112 halts. 

The route from Constantinople was by Libyssa (where, confusing 


1 Of. pp. 47, 55. 
2 An interesting survival. In parts of French Canada the habitants still 
reckon by lieues. 


186 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Rome’s greatest foe and the Emperor’s brother, he notes “Here lies 
King Annibalianus who once was King of the Africans”), Nico- 
medeia, Nicaea (no word of the Council of eight years before), the 
farm of Pampatus (“whence come the horses for the magistrates”), 
Tyana (“hence was Appollonius (sic) the Magician”), Tarsus (“hence 
was the apostle Paul”), through Cilicia to Antioch, and so by Tyre 
and Caesarea to Jerusalem. He travelled, according to Professor 
Ramsay’, mainly along the military road used by the Byzantine 
armies to reach Syria from Constantinople. Silvia tells us (p. 55) 
that she returned to Constantinople faciens iter jam notum—either 
a route already “described to you” or “familiar to me”—through 
the provinces of Cilicia, Cappadocia, Galatia and Bithynia, and the 
towns she mentions are Antioch, Tarsus, Mopsucrene (which with 
the Bordeaux pilgrim she calls Mansocrenae) and Chalcedon. All 
these names occur in reverse order in the Itinerary. It is therefore 
likely that she followed in the main the older pilgrim’s course. 
On her way back she made a deviation to see St Thecla’s martyry 
—a three days’ journey from ‘Tarsus by Pompeiopolis (Soli) and 
Corycus to Seleucia in Isauria, so that she may have made similar 
excursions on her way out. The Bordeaux pilgrim reckons 1159 
miles and 58 stopping-places between Constantinople and Jerusalem. 
The journey there and back took him seven months in all. He 
left Chalcedon on May 30 and was back in Constantinople on 
December 26, 

Her journal (if one may so call it) was written apparently for 
sister nuns in Aquitaine, whom she addressed in affectionate terms 
—“ladies of my soul,” “ladies, my light,” “your affection’,” 
“venerable lady sisters.” It would seem to have been put into its 
present form after her return to Constantinople, but from records 
previously made by her. Sir Charles Wilson, who describes her 
geography of Sinai as minute and correct, concludes—“I have been 
much struck by the accuracy of St Silvia’s topographical deserip- 
tions; they are evidently those of a person who has seen the places 
described, and have apparently been compiled from notes written on 
the ground.” If her geography is accurate, her grammar is not, 
and her style abounds in repetitions and awkward constructions, to 


1 See note to Bordeaux Itinerary, in the Palestine Pilgrims Society’s texts. 

2 Cf. p. 56, domnae lumen meum cum haec ad vestram affectionem darem. 
This is partly convention. Symmachus addresses his son as amabilitas vestra 
(Epp. vii. 3, 6, ete.) and his daughter as domna /ilia (vi. 80); Ausonius, his old 
friend, the professor and prefect, as eruditio tua (i. 31). 


Women Pilgrims 137 


say nothing of peculiar spellings, which shew a Latin wearing down 
towards French. 

After so long a preface, it will be best to transcribe at length a 
passage, illustrative at once of the Saint’s methods of grammar and 
travel and thought. It comes from the opening of what is left of 
her narrative and describes her visit to Sinai. 

“We then entered the Mount late on the Sabbath (= Saturday), 
and coming to certain cells the monks who dwelt there received us 
there quite kindly, shewing us every kindness. For there is also.a 
church there with a presbyter. ‘There then we abode that night, 
and thence rather early on the Lord’s day, with the presbyter 
himself and the monks, who dwelt there, we undertook the ascent 
of the several mountains, which mountains are climbed with infinite 
toil; since you do not go up slowly and slowly in a circle, spirally 
as we say, but you go up straight as if up a wall, and it is necessary 
that the descent of the several mountains be made straight down, 
until you come to the real foot of the middle (mountain), which is 
Syna in particular. Accordingly therefore, at the bidding of Christ 
our God, and helped by the prayers of the holy men who accom- 
panied me, and even so with great toil, because I had to go up on 
foot (because the ascent cannot be made at all on saddle)—yet the 
toil itself was not felt. The toil was not felt for the reason that 
I saw the desire, which at God’s bidding I had, being fulfilled. At 
the fourth hour then we reached the summit of Syna, God’s holy 
mount, where the law was given, in the place, that is, where the 
majesty of the Lord descended on the day when the mount smoked. 
In that place then there is now a church, not large, since the place 
itself, .¢. the summit of the mount, is not sufficiently large, a church 
however which of itself has great grace. When then at God’s 
bidding we had got up to the very summit and had reached the 
door of the church itself, lo! there met us the presbyter coming 
[p. 33] from his cell, a man set apart to that very church, a sound 
old man and a monk from earliest life, and, as they say here, an 
ascetic, and in a word such a man as is worthy to be in such a place. 
There also met us other presbyters, and in fact all the monks who 
dwelt there by the mount, that is, all who were not prevented by 
᾿ς weakness or age. But indeed on the very summit of that middle 
mountain no one lives. For there is nothing else there save only 
the church and the cave, where the holy Moses was. When the 
passage in the book of Moses had been read and the oblation had 
_ been duly made, ourselves too communicating, as we were now 


138 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


leaving the church, the presbyters gave us the blessings of the spot 
itself, that is of apples which grow on the mount itself. For 
although the holy mount Syna itself is all of rock so as to have no 
herbage, yet below at the foot of the mountains themselves, 7.¢. either 
round the foot of that which is in the middle, or round about that 
of those in the circle, there is a little soil. At once the holy monks 
of their diligence plant little trees and arrange little orchards or 
fields and hard by cells for themselves, just as if they were deriving 
fruit from the earth of the mount itself; which however they seem 
to have wrought with their own hands. And so after we had 
communicated and the holy men had given us blessings and we had 
gone outside the door of the church, then I began to ask them to 
shew us the several places. ‘Then at once those holy men conde- 
scended to shew us the places. For they shewed us the cave where 
the holy Moses was, when for the second time he had ascended up 
into the mount of God in order to receive the tables anew, after he 
had broken the former in consequence of the people’s sin; and all 
the other spots we wished, or they themselves were better acquainted 
with, they condescended to shew us. I wish you to know, O venerable 
lady sisters, that from the spot where we stood, that is around the 
walls of the church, ¢.¢. from the summit of the middle mountain, so 
far below us did those mountains, which we had climbed at first, 
seem beside that middle one, on which we stood, as if they were 
hillocks. Yet they were so unending, that I thought I had never 
seen higher, except that this middle one far excelled them. Egypt 
and Palestine and the Red Sea and that Parthenic Sea which leads 
to Alexandria, and moreover the endless frontiers of the Saracens 
we saw thence, so far below as to be hardly credible. All these 
several things those holy men pointed out to us. 

“When then all our desire, for which we had hastened [p. 34] 
to ascend, was satisfied, we now began to descend from the actual 
summit of the mountain of God, unto which we had ascended, into 
another mountain which is joined to it; which place is called 
Horeb; for there is a church there. For this is the place Horeb 
where the holy prophet Elias was, when he fled from the face of 
Ahab, when God spoke to him saying ‘‘ What doest thou here Elias?” 
as is written in the Book of the Kingdoms. For the cave too, where 
the holy Elias lay hid, is shewn there to this day before the door of 
the church which is there. There is also shewn there the altar of 
stone, which the holy Elias placed to offer to God, as those holy 
men too deigned to shew us the several things. We therefore made 


Women Pilgrims 139 


the oblation and a very earnest prayer, and the passage itself from 
the Book of the Kingdoms was read: for that had been my chief 
desire for us always, that wherever we came, the very passage should 
always be read from the book. When therefore our offering was 
made there too, we came afresh to another spot, the presbyters and 
monks shewing it to us not far away from there, that is to the spot 
where the holy Aaron had stood with the seventy elders, when the 
holy Moses received from the Lord the law for the children of Israel. 
In that place then although there is not a house, there is yet a great 
rock with level ground around it above, on which the holy men 
themselves are said to have stood: for it has also there in the 
middle as it were an altar made of stones. ‘here too accordingly 
the passage itself from the book of Moses was read and one psalm 
said, suitable to the place; and so after prayer we descended 
thence. 

“ And behold now it began to be about the eighth hour, and still 
there were three miles for us to quit the mountains themselves, 
which we had entered at evening on the previous day: but we had 
not to go out by the same part as we had entered by (as I said 
above), because it was necessary for us both to walk round all the 
holy places and to see whatever cells there were there, and so to 
come out to the end of the valley that lies below the mountain of 
God. It was necessary for us to go out to the end of the valley 
itself, since there were there very many cells of holy men and a 
church in that place where the bush is: which bush lives till this 
day and sends forth twigs. Accordingly therefore when we had 
descended the mount of God, we reached the bush at perhaps the 
tenth hour. This is the bush, which I mentioned above, from which 
the Lord spoke to Moses in fire, and it is in this place, where there 
are many cells and a church at the end of the valley itself. In 
front of the church itself there is a very pleasant garden [p. 35] 
with an excellent and plenteous spring, in which garden the bush 
itself is. The place too is shewn hard by there, where the holy 
Moses stood, when God said to him “Loose the latchet of thy shoe” 
and so forth. When then we had come to this place, it was already 
the tenth hour, and because it was evening we could not make the 
oblation. But prayer was made in the church, and in the garden 
too at the bush. Moreover the passage itself from the book of 
Moses was read according to custom, and so because it was evening 
we supped there before the bush with the holy men themselves. 
Accordingly therefore we abode there. And on the next day 


140 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


waking rather early we asked the presbyters that the oblation might 
be made there too, as was also done.” 

No one after all this will be surprised to learn that Silvia saw 
a monolith with figures of Moses and Aaron, gratefully erected by 
the Israelites as they left Egypt. Yet not a word do we hear of the 
hardships and peril of the journey. It is only incidentally we learn 
that she had been outside the frontier of the Empire and needed a 
guard. Officers with soldiers escorted her from fort to fort till she 
reached a place called Arabia. ‘Here we sent back the soldiers, 
who had according to the Roman military system given us protection 
as long as we walked through suspected places.” She lightly 
sketches the rest of the journey, and the stages by which she 
returned “to Aelia, that is, to Jerusalem’.” 

This was not her first visit there, as indeed we should have 
judged from her route. She made it for three years a centre for 
her archaeological expeditions, and though she gives us a very long 
and full account of the Christian year, as there celebrated, she does 
not (in the part of her story surviving) tell us much about the 
famous places and churches and relics of the city, except as they 
concern church practice. The special point that most pleased her 
in this was the appropriateness of the service and lessons of each 
day to the day. ‘This was a novelty to a Christian from Gaul, and 
was only introduced into the Gallican churches in the fifth century 
by Musaeus, a presbyter of Marseilles”. 

Many wonderful relics she saw—the column at which our Lord 
was scourged and the horn used in anointing the Jewish kings— 
but many more she did not see, for the marvels were not all dis- 
covered at once. ‘I'wo centuries later, pilgrims had the privilege 
of seeing the crown of thorns, the spear, the sponge and reed, the 
cup used at the last supper and the charger that received John the 
Baptist’s head. But she saw what the Bordeaux pilgrim did not 
see—the Cross. 

Now this is a wonderful story and a digression may be forgiven. 
Everybody knows Helena found the Cross. It was found, says Cyril 
of Jerusalem, in Constantine’s reign®, and Constantine died in 337. 


1 To find Jerusalem still called Aelia after three hundred years is very 
interesting. Ammianus Marcellinus about this time alludes to another town 
far in the West—‘‘ Augusta, formerly known as London.” 

2 So Dr Bernard on St Silvia, p. 73, in the Palestine Pilgrims Society’s text. 

% Cyril Jer. Ep. 3. Cyril died in 386. This letter is said to be early, and a 
sermon (Catech. iy. 10) quoted in the same connexion is set down to 347. If 
this date is right, the silence of Eusebius is the more impressive. 


Women Pilgrims 141 


Helena died in 328, so, if she found it, why did not the Bordeaux 
‘pilgrim know of it? He knows a great deal and saw a great deal, 
but is silent about the most remarkable thing of all And why is 
Eusebius silent? He only says that “the solemn and all-holy 
martyrion (token?) of the saving resurrection appeared, though 
beyond all expectation’.’”’ These two authorities are of great im- 
portance, and not at all outweighed by any unanimity of post- 
Cyrillian writers. But there is a curious cross-current to be 
considered. One of the most interesting of Syriac documents 
relative to the early church is The Doctrine of Addai. Its date or 
dates scholars fix differently, but Dr Wright puts it down in its 
present form to the second half of the fourth century*. Its main 
theme is Addai, the apostle Thaddaeus, sent by our Lord to heal 
King Abgar of Edessa. Incidentally Addai tells the story of the 
Invention of the Cross, not by Helena, but by “Protonice, the wife 
of the Emperor Claudius, whom Tiberius made second in his 
kingdom, when he went to make war with the Spaniards who had 
rebelled against him.” Need it be said that each new fact makes 
the story more astounding? Protonice with two sons and a daughter 
stayed with Herod in Jerusalem, and at the request of the apostle 
James commanded the Jews to inform her where the cross was, It 
was in the grave with the crosses of the two thieves. Happily, her 
daughter fell down dead, and the brilliant thought of her elder son 
at once restored his sister to life and discovered the True Cross. We 
shall probably never know who the real discoverer was, and perhaps 
it is better that Helena should not be robbed of such renown as the 
story gives που, At all events Silvia had no doubt she had seen 
the True Cross. 

Another of her excursions was to Mt Nebo*, and on her way she 
saw Moses’ traditional tomb—his sepulchre having been discovered, 
though “πὸ man knoweth his sepulture.” More interesting still, 

᾿ς she saw the place that bore the name of Lot’s wife (where of course 
they read the passage in Scripture); “but believe me, venerable 
ladies, the pillar itself is not to be seen, but the place alone is 
shewn; but the pillar itself is said to have been covered by the 


1 Kusebius, Vita Constantini iii. 28. ‘Token’ is Dr Bright’s rendering, and 
he refers it to the Holy Sepulchre. Eusebius lived in intimacy with Constantine 
and must have known it, if the Cross had really been found. 

2 Syriac Literature, p. 48, 

8 See Dr Abbott’s Philomythus, c. vii. §§ 30, 31 for an interesting discussion 
of the Invention of the Cross and Cardinal Newman’s handling of the evidence. 

4 Peregrinatio Silviae, pp. 40—44. 


142 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


“Dead Sea. Certainly though we saw the place, we saw no pillar, 
so I cannot deceive you about this. For the bishop of the place, that: 
is, of Segor [Zoar], said to us that it was now some years since the 
pillar had been seen. For Segor is about six miles from the place 
where the pillar stood, which is now entirely covered by water.” ‘This 
was a distinct loss. However Theodosius (about 530 A.D.) says it is 
there and it waxes and wanes with the moon, and Antoninus (about 
570) says it is not true that it is being wasted away by cattle 
licking it, but it stands as it was. A pillar about five feet high is 
still shewn. 

After one more expedition to see Job’s tomb, she tells us her 
mind turned toward home, but on her way she wished to see Edessa, 
where were the martyry of St Thomas and the authentic letter our 
Lord wrote to King Abgar. This story of Abgar is one of the most 
firmly asserted of early traditions. Abgar was the name of the 
princes of Edessa from the days of Pompey till the end of the second 
century, and the tale of our Lord’s letter is given by Eusebius, who 
translates from the Syriac a part of the Doctrine of Addai, m a 
form however differing from the present Syriac text, which expressly 
says that our Lord sent a verbal message, and that Hannan, the keeper 
of the archives, afterwards wrote it down. Still our Lord’s reputed 
autograph and His promise that Edessa should be inviolable had 
already, so Edessan historians declared, saved the city at least once 
from capture by the Persians’. As to St Thomas, it was he who 
had actually given Addai his orders to go to Edessa, and St Ephraem 
in one of his hymns tells us that St Thomas’ bones had recently 
been brought from India to Mesopotamia by a merchant, “who was 
in truth a merchant.” 

So to Mesopotamia Silvia went and saw the martyry and read 
there the Acts of Thomas, that most wonderful collection of the 
Apocrypha—or at least some of them, aliquanta ipsius sancti 
Thomae*®. She was kindly received by the bishops of Mesopotamia, 


1 See Phillips, Doctrine of Addai, pp. ¥ and 5; W. Wright, Chronicle of 
Joshua the Stylite, chapter 60, where Joshua (writing about 507 a.p.) speaks of 
our Lord’s promise that Edessa should never be captured being once more ~ 
fulfilled when Kawad was driven off in 502—3 (814 of the Greeks) ; and Cureton, 
Ancient Syriac Documents, p. 152, and the authorities there quoted, Procopius, 
Evagrius, ete. Cureton alludes finally to the existence in England down to his 
own memory of a practice of keeping a copy of this letter of our Lord as a 
phylactery. 

2 Carm. Nisibena, 42. 

% «*The tale of Thomas the Apostle is a sea that cannot be exhausted,” said 
Jacob of Serug. - A better authority is Mr Burkitt’s interesting book on Early 
Christianity outside the Roman Empire. 


Women Pilgrims 143 


as her long journey “from the ends of the earth” deserved, and she 
was shewn perhaps the very letter of our Lord, or at least a true 
copy of it. (It depends on the pronoun ipse, which has hardly its 
classical meaning in Silvia.) She writes that on her return her 
correspondents shall see her copy of it. She says nothing about the 
picture of Christ, which Abgar was supposed to have had. 

She went on to Carrhae (Haran), and as Nisibis was inaccessible, 
having been held since 363 by the Persians, she had the happy inspira- 
tion to go and see the place where Jacob kissed Rachel, or rather, 
to quote her correctly, where he watered Rachel’s flocks. They read 
there the passage from Genesis and a suitable psalm (was it the 
forty-fifth ?) and saw the well and the great stone and the inevitable 
church And so to Antioch and across Asia Minor to Constantinople, 
where her story ends with the anticipation of visiting Ephesus ‘‘on 
account of the martyry of the holy and blessed John and to pray.” 

We hear of her again a year or two after 400 from a letter of 
Paulinus to Sulpicius. He cannot himself spare ‘‘a grain of sacred 
ash” to Sulpicius’ envoy Victor, who is in search of relics, “but 
Victor says he has abundant hopes of such a favour from the holy 
Silvia, who has promised him some relics of many martyrs of the 
East*.” Elsewhere we learn she died at Brixia (Brescia) and left 
her sacred treasures to the bishop of the town, Gaudentius. Her 
memory is still celebrated there on Dec. 15. 

So far we have followed the course of three women pilgrims, and 
it will easily be believed in what numbers both men and women 
flocked to Palestine. As Paula says, ‘““The chief men in Gaul hasten 
hither; the Briton, remote from our world, if he advance in the 
faith, forsakes the setting sun and seeks the spot he knows by fame 
and from the Scriptures. What shall we say of Armenians, of 
Persians, of the tribes of India and Ethiopia, of Egypt herself hard 
by, so rich in monks, of Pontus and Cappadocia, of Coele-Syria and 
Mesopotamia and all the swarms (ewamina) of the East? They all 
hasten to these places and shew divers types of virtues*.” Chrysostom 
more than once speaks of the world coming together to the manger, 
and tells of many taking a long journey over the sea from the ends 
of the earth to Arabia to see Job's dunghill*, It seems however 


1 Paulinus, Ep. 31. 1. 

2 Among Jerome’s letters, Ep. xlvi. 10." 

38 Homily 5 De Statuis, p. 69 Migne, διὰ τοῦτο πολλοὶ viv μακράν τινα καὶ 
διαπόντιον ἀποδημίαν στέλλονται ἀπὸ τῶν περάτων τῆς γῆς εἰς τὴν ᾿Αραβίαν τρέχοντες 
ἵνα τὴν κοπρίαν ἐκείνην ἴδωσι, and they derive from the sight πᾶσαν ὠφέλειαν καὶ 
φιλοσοφίαν πολλήν. 


144 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


that this concourse of strange races in Jerusalem and Bethlehem 
was not free from those attendant evils which mark similar mixtures 
in other places. Gregory of Nyssa visited Jerusalem about 380, 
that is just about the same time as our pilgrims, and his conclusion 
was that the effect of the pilgrimages was evil and not good. He 
was disturbed by the dangers to the fame and character of women, 
pilgrims though they might be, in the profligate cities of the East. 
Of Jerusalem itself he writes:—“There is no species of impurity 
that is not dared therein—flagitious actions and adulteries and 
thefts, idolatries and witchcrafts and envyings and murders; and 
this last evil, above others, is so common in that place, that nowhere 
else is there such a readiness to commit murder as in those places?.” 
Even Jerome, the great advocate of pilgrimage, has to confess (about 
394) that “if the sites of the Cross and Resurrection were not in a 
crowded city, where is a curia, a garrison, harlots, actors, jesters and 
everything there is in any other city; or if its only crowds were 
monks, then indeed it were a desirable abode for all monks*.” 
Quite apart from the fact that many of the pilgrims attributed more 
value to the actual pilgrimage than to any spiritual impulse or 
impression connected with it, even for the more spiritually minded 
there was (and is always) a danger in religious excitement, as tending 
to supersede the moral standard. ‘That contemporary criticism was 
not wanting is seen from Jerome’s ferocious and filthy attack on 
Vigilantius, who had dared “to call us who stand for relics, ash-men 
and idolaters, worshippers of dead men’s bones*.” There were also 
bishops, who gently deprecated pilgrimages, but on the whole 
without much success. 

But was there not, in spite of Jerome, an alternative type of 
Christian life for woman? Though ecclesiastics do not as a rule 
emphasize it, we find there was. ‘T'wo instances may fitly close this 
essay. 

There exists a curious little poem, dating from the middle of the 
fourth century, which generally bears the name of Faltonia Proba, 
and is therefore attributed to the granddaughter of the Roman lady 
who, it seems, actually wrote it. Proba, the real authoress, was the 
wife of Clodius Celsinus Adelphius, who was Prefect of Rome for 


1 Gregory of Nyssa, Ep. ad Eustathium, §§ 6—13. 

2 Jerome, Ep. lviii. 4. Letter exlviii. deals with a scandal, which occurred at 
Bethlehem almost under his own eyes. Even the gatherings on a smaller scale 
at Nola were marked by drunkenness and disorder, see Paulinus, Natal. 9. 546 f. 
Also Augustine, Conf. vi. 2, 2. 

3 Jerome, Ep. cix. 1 cinerarios et idololatras, qui mortuorum hominum ossa 
veneremur. 


ι πὰ —— 


Women Pilgrims 145 


half the year 3511. Her grandfather, her father, her brother, her 
son and many more of her male relatives held the office of consul, 
and her nephew Petronius Probus, who married her granddaughter 
Faltonia, was one of the greatest and richest men of his day. So 
Proba belonged to a family of the very highest repute and dignity. 
She had at least two sons, and was able to combine with her duties 
as wife and mother a close study of Virgil. Her surviving poem is 


_ a sort of epitome of Old Testament and Gospel history composed 


of lines and half lines from her poet, and very ingenious it is. 
Comparetti is no doubt right in pronouncing such work childish 
after all, though it was then regarded as glorifying the poet who 
was used as a quarry. 

Proba’s prologue tells of former attempts on a different theme, 
though she does not say whether they were in the same style. 
“Long since of chiefs who brake the gentle bonds of peace, moved, 
unhappy men! by dire lust to reign, of mutual slaughter and the 
cruel wars of kings, of armies of one race and fair shields stained 
with parents’ blood, and trophies won but not from foemen, of blood- 
besprinkled triumphs that fame proclaims, and of cities so oft 
widowed of so many a citizen, I have written, I confess.” But now 
“T will shew that Virgil sang the gentle gifts of Christ.” And 
so forth for nearly seven hundred lines, one half dealing with 
Genesis and Exodus, and the second a harmony of the Gospels and 
of Virgil. She concludes with a gentle address to her husband, from 
which some have supposed he was not at first a Christian. “Οἵ 
your grace, my friends, keep this way of worship: hold this thyself, 
my sweet spouse, and if our piety deserve, may all our grandsons 
hold the faith.’ At times she is hard put to it to match Virgil 
with Scripture’, but the passages I have translated run smoothly 
enough, patchwork as they are. 

Perhaps Proba was in his mind, when Jerome angrily wrote 
“The art of interpreting Scripture is the one all claim. Serzbimus 
indocti doctique poemata passim. This the garrulous old woman, 
the drivelling dotard etc. lay claim to, mutilate, and teach before 
they learn...As if we have not read the centos from Homer and 

1 Boissier, La Fin du Paganisme, ii. 244; Gregorovius, Rome in the Middle 
Ages, tr. i. 97, and Comparetti, Vergil in the Middle Ages, tr. p. 54, give the 
poem to Faltonia, the two latter avowedly following Aschbach. But Seeck, 
Symmachus, Intr. p. xc., and Schenkl on Proba in the Vienna Corpus of Latin 
Ecclesiastical Writers, vol. xvi. p. 514, make it clear that this is wrong and that 
the grandmother is the authoress. 


2 Cf. the creation of Eve; Quaeritur huic alius; nec quisquam ex agmine 
tanto | audet adire virum (Aen. v. 378—the boxing match). 


G. Be 


146 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 
Virgil, and could not say Virgil was a Christian before Christ, 


when he wrote Jam redit et virgo etc....This is puerile’.” Yet 
Proba found a place by her poem in at least one list of the Church’s 
famous men, a solitary woman among them, because, as Isidore says, 
she sang the praise of Christ, ‘‘and if we do not admire her conception, 
we praise her ingenuity, and her work is still read among the 
apocryphal writings’.” hither Pope Gelasius relegated it by a 
decree between 492 and 496, and so it continued to be read through 
the Middle Ages. 

But if to-day we do not read her poem, we have another and 
perhaps a tenderer memorial of her, which may well seem to outweigh 
the rhetorical laudation Jerome lavished on a Paula or a Eustochium. 
Among the Latin inscriptions is one, which at her death her husband 
had inscribed upon her tomb, which was also to be his. 

CLODIVS ADELFIVS V 0 EX PRAEFECTIS VRBIS VXORI INCOMPARABILI 
ET SIBI. 

(Clodius Adelphius Vir Clarissimus [his rank] Ex-Prefect of the 
City, to his incomparable wife and himself*.) 

Of Monnica, the mother of St Augustine, much has been written 
and but few words need be given to her here. From her son’s 
writings we can piece her life together. A German critic has 
suggested that perhaps she was not throughout an ideal mother 
in every way, but at least she was always motherly. She, like 
her son, grew in grace and knowledge and rose with time to higher 
planes of thought and vision. She was early trained to sobriety 
and piety by an old Christian slave*. When it fell to her lot to be 
married, she was given to a husband, who if kindly was very quick- 
tempered, yet such was her tact that she never had a blow from 
him and they never quarrelled. Over her son she watched and 
prayed and wept to win him for Christ. At times she would have 
despaired, but now a vision told her she should “see him standing 
where she stood,’ and now a bishop with a splendid instinct told 
her “it was impossible that the son of those tears could be lost” 
and the words came to her as a voice from heaven. When the son 
deceived her by going away from her to Rome, “after accusing my 
treachery and cruelty she turned once more to pray for me.” She 
followed him to Milan and underwent a storm on her voyage, but in 


1 Ep. liii. 7. Tertullian, Praescr. Haeret. 39 on earlier centos. 
2 Isidore, de Vir. ill. 22 (18). 

3 Corpus Inscr. Latin. vi. 1712. 

4 Conf. ix, 8—9, 17—20, ete. 


ae ee eee ae ee Te, ee ee ὑψὸ 


Women Pilgrims 147 


inversion of the natural order she comforted the sailors by telling of a 
vision, in which she had learnt they would arrive safely. It was, she 
told her son, her firm faith in Christ that she should not leave this 
life till she saw him a faithful Catholic. And when her dream was 
realized and he went with the small circle of friends to Cassisiacum 
to spend the few months before baptism in thought and discussion, 
she went with him, and her part in the dialogues held there is 
no mean one. From time to time she joins in aptly, with a happy 
anticipation of some philosophical conclusion, with a witty phrase 
that caps a process of reasoning, or a line from a hymn of Ambrose 
which is the conclusion of the whole matter’. The wonderful 
scene at Ostia, where mother and son held spiritual communion and 
in swift thought touched on that Eternal Wisdom, which abideth 
over all, and had reached for a moment the contemplation of God 
which is “the joy of the Lord,’ must be read in Augustine’s own 
words’, 

Neither Monnica nor (so far as we know) Proba ever went on a 
pilgrimage. The common duties of domestic cheerfulness, peace- 
making and love sufficed them. We may contrast with Melania’s 
relinquishment of her son to the Praetor and Paula’s neglect which 
left Toxotius to grow up a pagan, the mother’s feeling which glows 
through Proba’s quaint mosaic and still more the very significant 
words of Augustine®’. He is telling of the spiritual awakening 
he felt for the first time in his life when he read Cicero’s 
Hortensius. 

“And since at that time (Thou knowest, Ὁ light of my heart) 
the apostolic writings were not known to me, I was delighted with 
that exhortation so far only as to seek and pursue and hold and 
embrace—not this or that sect—but Wisdom herself, whatever she 
were ; I was wakened and kindled and enflamed by the dialogue ; 
and yet—this alone checked me in all my enthusiasm, that the 
name of Christ was not there; for this name, according to Thy 
mercy, Ὁ Lord, the name of my Saviour, Thy Son, even with my 
mother’s milk my heart devoutly drank in and deeply treasured ; 
and whatever lacked this name, however learned, exquisite or true 
it might be, it took not entire hold of me.” 

1 See dialogue de Beata Vita. Note his high opinion of woman: Conf. xiii. 
32, 47 feminam quae haberet quidem in mente rationalis intelligentiae parem 
naturam. 

2 Conf. ix. 10—11, 23—28. 

3 Confessions iii. 4, 8; cf. also i. 11, 17 on the contest between maternal and 
paternal influence. Also de B. V. 6 nostra mater cujus meriti credo esse omne 


quod vivo. 
10—2 


CHAPTER VII 


SYMMACHUS 


...Lt in vetustatem perducens superbos et nesciunt... 
AvuGUSTINE, Conf. i. 4, 4 


Twice in the course of his history Ammianus pauses to describe 
the Roman society of his day, and his pictures are lacking neither 
in colour nor liveliness. But whether these portions of his history 
were as popular as other sections which he read in public at Rome, 
we are not told. St Jerome’s account of the luxury of Rome, 
like Cicero’s story of his own consulship, may be said to have 
“exhausted the cabinet of Isocrates, all the paint-boxes of his 
disciples and a good deal of the pigments of Aristotle’.” On the 
other side Claudian is lavish of admiration, so lavish as to praise 
much that Jerome attacked. More moderate is Macrobius in his 
picture of the amiable and learned circle of Praetextatus, which 
shews us that society at its best. 

But Fortune has preserved for us other means of judging the 
Roman nobility, for one of its number added to his great repute 
.as an orator the fame of a great letter-writer. We have some 

nine hundred letters of Symmachus written to a large number of 
the best people in the Rome of his day. It might be expected 
that from these we could test the validity of the impeachment 
of Ammianus and Jerome and the defence of Claudian and Macro- 
bius. ΤῸ a certain extent we can. But the reader who hopes 
to obtain from the letters of Symmachus anything like the bright 
and varied impression of life he may gain from the accumulations’ 
of Sir Edmund Verney and his family, will be disappointed. The 
reason is not far to seek. ‘he Verney papers remained untouched 


1 ad Ait. ii. 1. 


Symmachus 149 


for some two centuries and they offered Parthenope Lady Verney 
a boundless variety of documents bearing on the daily life and 
private interests of a large and active family with a wide circle 
of relatives and acquaintances. ‘The correspondence of Symmachus 
was edited by his son not long after his death, and Fabius Sym- 
machus was, I am afraid, a dull man, thoroughly in subjection 
to the notions of propriety held by his class, which was not a very 
intelligent class. He carefully removed anything unsafe, anything 
beneath the dignity of a great man, anything relating to common 
life or business or passing events. Perhaps he should not have 
all the blame, for he was apparently a good son and only did what 
his father would after all have wished. Symmachus himself more 
than once speaks of subjoining in an index or indiculus or brevi- 
ariwm some account of.what is occurring, and it is impossible for us 
to say whether his son cut these away, when he edited the collec- 
tion, or whether he did it himself, when he filed his letters for 
preservation. For it has to be confessed that Symmachus kept copies 
of his letters from a genuine admiration of them, which of course he 
would have denied or put otherwise. Sometimes he used them 
again intact, and sometimes he culled a phrase from an old letter 
to weave into a new. Once, perhaps by mistake, he took a sonorous 
cluster of words from a letter of Ausonius he had by him’. At 
all events he wrote his letters to his noble friends with a keen’ 
sense of their value and dignity, and a strong impression of the 
likelihood of their being published. Here is at once a difference’ 
between such letters and those of Cicero, All is studied, all is 
for the public. Ubique vitam agimus consularem he wrote of 
himself a few years after his consulship (Hp. viii. 23), and the same 
spirit filled him throughout. He never forgot, as even Cicero so 
frequently did in writing to his friends, that he might be, or was, 
or had been a consul. Neither did he ever forget that he had 
a reputation to maintain as a stylist. Indeed it may be said he 
is most natural and most human when he is thinking about his 
health or that of his family. 

This edition of his letters was not the only task Fabius under- 
took for his father. A monument erected by him was found on 
the Caelian hill in 1617. The inscription is straightforward and 
not without dignity. “ΤῸ Q Aurelius Symmachus, Vir Clarissimus, 
Quaestor, Praetor, Pontifex Major, Corrector (Governor) of Lucania 
and the Bruttii, Count of the third order, Proconsul of Africa, 


1 Ep. iii. 6, quoting Ausonius ap. Ep. i. 32 (delenifica et suada facundia). 


150 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Prefect of the City, Consul of his year, a most eloquent orator— 
Q. Fabius Memmius Symmachus, Vir Clarissimus, to the best of 
fathers’.” Symmachus’ career was thus very typical of his class 
in his day, splendid but not very important. 

We may then take this man as a representative of the Roman 
nobility. In nothing else is he of real importance to the historian. 
He contributed no ideas to mankind and he left no mark on society. 
He was a good son, a good father, a good friend, a gentleman in 
a good sense of the word, but in no sense was he great. His 
reputation for his speeches and his letters is not sustained by 
posterity. It has become one of the strongest proofs of the de- 
cadence of Roman taste. In fact, strange as it may seem, the 
most important act of his life in its bearing on history was his 
recommendation of St Augustine as a professor of rhetoric to the 
people of Milan. — 

Symmachus came of a distinguished family, and he believed 
that “good blood tells and never fails to recognize itself” (ém- 
pulsu boni sanguinis, qui se semper agnoscit; Or. viii. 3). His 
grandfather, Aurelius Julianus Symmachus, had been consul in 
the year 330, about ten years before his birth which is generally 
placed about 340. His father, Lucius Aurelius Avianius Sym- 
machus, to whom we shall return, was Prefect of the City in 364 
and won the praise of Ammianus (who is chary of praise) as “one 
of the most conspicuous examples of learning and modesty®.” 
Quintus Aurelius Symmachus, our subject, was consul in 391. His 
son Fabius was never more than praetor, but his grandson was 
consul in 446, his great-grandson, the father-in-law of Boethius, 
in 485, and that man’s grandsons, the sons of Boethius, in 522. 

The education Symmachus received was that of his day—the 
traditional education of a Roman gentleman for centuries—rhetoric 
and literature. How much Greek he learnt, it would be hard to 
say. It made very little impression on him, but this is not sur- 
prising in view of the decline of Greek studies*. Let an extract 
from a letter to Ausonius tell of his philosophy*. “I pay no 

1 Corp. Inser. Lat. vi. 1699. Consul ordinarius is the consul who gave his 
name to the year as opposed to the suffectus who took his place during the year. 

2 Amm., Mare. xxvii. 3, 3. 

3 Boissier, F. P. i. 175—6, remarks this decline. 

4 Perhaps it is not for nothing that in the Saturnalia (vii. 1, 2) Macrobius 
makes Symmachus deprecate the introduction of Philosophy at the banquet; 
rather, he says, tanquam censoria quaedam et plus nimio verecunda materfamilias 
penetralibus suis contineatur. The passage (including the simile) is modelled 


from Plutarch’s Convivial Questions i. 1, a work much used as a quarry by 
Macrobius. 


Symmachus 151 


atténtion to others, the ignoble mob, who feign philosophy by 
air and garb. A few our age has produced, and among these in 
particular my friend Barachus, whose native wisdom approaches 
antiquity. ‘But do you, I hear you say, ‘presume to judge of 
philosophers?’” (Hp. i. 29). Possibly it was enough for a gentle- 
man to know the names of the philosophers and an anecdote or 
two about them. Aristotle was the tutor of Alexander; for the 
rest, “Plato taught us there are gods, and Aristotle reduced the 
nature of rhetoric to an art” (Ep. i. 4). 

When Avianius Symmachus met Libanius the great Greek 
rhetorician of Antioch, “he saw,” writes Libanius to Symmachus, 
“that I was not at all a contemptible person, and telling me 
much about your natural endowment, he asked the gods to grant 
something that might allow you to partake my studies.” The 
prayer was not granted, and Symmachus was trained by “an old 
man, the child of the Garonne,’ who “dropped the precepts of 
rhetoric into his breast” (Hp. ix. 88). Gaul was famous for her 
rhetoricians, and this man has been identified with Tiberius Victor 
Minervius, in earlier days the teacher of Ausonius and com- 
memorated by him in an interesting little poem” A friend of 
St Jerome’s was sent to Rome “that Roman gravitas might season 
the richness and resplendency of his Gallic oratory’,” and it may 
not be fanciful to attribute to his teacher from the Garonne the 
permanently “rich and florid” character of Symmachus’ rhetoric, for 
so Macrobius describes it*. 

He entered on the usual career of office for a young Roman 
noble, as is set forth on his monument, and began to acquire some 
repute as an orator. In fact his oratory won him his selection 
by the Senate to bear its offering of gold and voice its sentiments 
in a panegyric at the Quinquennalia of Valentinian, the festival 
to celebrate his five years of empire in 369. ‘This panegyric, 
another to Valentinian and one delivered at the same time to 
Gratian, survive, though they are not complete. They are like 
other panegyrics, but have some additional interest in dealing 
with the German campaigns of the Emperor, to whose court the 
young orator was attached at the time. Jnterfui, he says, ipse 


1 Professores 1. See p. 110. 2 Jerome, Ep. 125, 6. 

8. It may be well to give Macrobius in full, Sat. v. 1, 7 pingue et floridum in 
quo Plinius Secundus quondam et nunc nullo veterum minor noster Symmachus 
lucuriatur. This verb, picking up a previous lascivit, is very well chosen to 
represent Symmachus’ style. Whether following Macrobius or not, Gibbon uses 
the same word— ‘‘the luxuriancy of Symmachus.” 


152 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


deprehendi. He is able to emphasize real merit in Valentinian’s 
activity and his preference for active service at the front, but the 
glory of the ten-year-old Gratian rings false. Of course the Roman 
Empire is made much of; the Rhine flows “from our Alps to our 
Ocean” and mirrors Roman forts on either bank; “from the 
couch of the rising Aurora to the goal of the setting sun thou 
seest nought that is not thine own,” and the Neckar, before un- 
heard of, is now for the first time made known to the world by 
the Emperor’s victories’. This last flourish was, however, a triumph 
of loyalty over geography. It should be noted to what sources he 
ascribes the Emperor’s prosperity—‘‘I said, O venerable Augustus, 
that the gods were thy helpers. It is easy to prove this with the 
Rhine for a witness, etc.” The plural dei was the regular form 
in panegyrics and its importance may be exaggerated. Still it is 
_ significant. It was while he was with Valentinian that he made 
the acquaintance of the poet Ausonius, then tutor of Gratian and 
destined to rise higher. 

In 373 Symmachus became proconsul of Africa, and cooperated 
with Theodosius, the father of the future Emperor, in crushing 
Firmus, whose revolt exhibited in the political world those am- 
bitions of the Moors, which found their religious expression in 
Donatism. He seems to have won the praise of Theodosius (Or. 1.). 

Either just before or just after his two and a half years in 
Africa, he married Rusticiana the daughter of Orfitus. He received 
with her a fine dowry, though in later years he was involved 
in legal troubles by this connexion with Orfitus’ estate. Orfitus, 
according to Ammianus (xiv. 6, 1), was a man who conducted 
himself with insolence as Prefect of the City, his elevation turning 
his head, but otherwise he was sensible and a good business man, 
though alas! not so well equipped in liberal studies as a nobleman 
should be. He was exiled on a charge of peculation but afterwards 
recalled. Symmachus had by this marriage two children, a son 
and a daughter, who seem to have been born about 384—5. 

Meanwhile Avianius had had an interesting experience of the 
Roman populace, for, says Ammianus (xxvii. 3, 4), “they burnt 
his house, the most beautiful across the Tiber, for they had been 
excited by some vile plebeian saying that Avianius had said 
(though no one had heard him) that he would rather slake lime 


1 Ausonius says the same of the sources of the Danube, referring to this 
campaign, Mosella 424, Et fontem Latiis ignotum annalibus Histri, | haec 
profligati venit modo laurea belli. 


Symmachus 153 


with his wine than sell it at the prices expected. Ammianus 
abounds in stories of rioting in Rome, when free corn and wine etc. 
were not forthcoming for the populace. There are hints of this 
in Symmachus’ letters, and the reader will understand his pleasure 
- in watching from his seaside house the corn-ships on their way 
to Ostia’. 

Avianius withdrew to the country and stayed there till the 
Senate sent a deputation to ask him to return. An oration of 
Symmachus’ on this joyous occasion, and one on behalf of Trygetius 
delivered about the same time (376), survive in fragments. The 
latter has some significant flattery addressed to Gratian, in which 
one may trace some side-references to Valentinian, of a nature 
to diminish the faith one might place in the previous panegyrics. 

All this is characteristic of the day. One might read the letters 
of Symmachus without forming any clear idea of the dangers, in- 
ternal and external, of the Empire, just as it is almost impossible 
to gather from Miss Austen’s pages that England was at war with 
Napoleon. Yet here are stirring incidents in his family circle, 
perils that might have broken his fortunes for ever, and he himself 
was to face and escape even greater dangers. How much more 
interesting his correspondence would be, if it had not been so 
carefully edited ! 

Symmachus was now at the height of his glory. He was famous 
as an orator; he had represented the Senate before the Emperor} 
the Emperors “entrusted to his human voice their divine despatch, 
and the Senate learned their victories from his mouth” (i. 95), 
His correspondence now begins to be more extensive. 

In 382 the Emperor Gratian, who had passed from the hands 
of Ausonius into those of Ambrose, a much more aggressive Chris- 
tian, began a campaign against paganism. He withdrew public 
authority and money from the ancestral sacra of the gentes; 
cancelled the grants and immunities of the Vestals and limited 
their right to receive property by will; and removed the statue 
of Victory and her altar from the Senate. A remonstrance was 
addressed to him by the pagan members of the Senate, but (to 
quote St Ambrose, Hp. xvii. 10), “the holy Damasus, bishop 
of the Roman church, chosen by God, sent to me a statement 


1 Seneca, Ep. 77 (beg.), gives a pleasant picture of the excitement at Puteoli 
on the approach of corn-ships, which are recognised from their rigging to be 
Alexandrian. (See Torr, Ancient Ships, p. 90.) The sight must have meant 
more to Symmachus with his experience of the Roman mob. 


154 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


which Christian Senators beyond counting had given him, to the 
effect that they had directed no such thing to be done, did not 
agree with such petitions made by the heathen, and withheld their 
consent ; and they stated publicly and privately that they would 
not come to the Senate if any concession were made,” ‘This state- 
ment (libellus) was given to Gratian by Ambrose, and the pagans, 
says Symmachus, “were refused an audience, thanks to unprin- 
cipled men (improbi), because justice could not have failed them” 
(Rel. iii. 1). 

A year later Gratian was murdered, and Valentinian II. suc- 
ceeded him. ‘The pagan party regained some strength and Sym- 
machus became Prefect of the City. In this capacity he had 
constant communication with the Emperor on all sorts of business, 
legal points, civil service disputes, compliments and so forth. Who 
was responsible for such and such a bridge? Puteoli and Tarracina 
quarrel over an imperial grant of grain, and it goes to the Emperor. 
Certain city guilds wish exemption from a new tax. The people 
are anxious about some games promised by the Emperor. Honorary 
senatorial rank is asked for a philosopher, brought according to 
precedent from Athens to instruct the young nobility. His name 
is Celsus, and men of letters generally agree in pronouncing him 
nearly equal (subpar) to Aristotle. Some novelties have been 
introduced into the processions of Roman magistrates, and Sym- 
machus asks for their abolition. “Remove the chariot, which 
boasts greater magnificence ; we prefer that which can claim greater 
antiquity.” 

Two most interesting relationes refer to the duel between 
Christians and pagans. ‘The pagans made a move to recover from 
Valentinian IJ. the altar of Victory, which Gratian would not 
restore, and the Christians hatched a plot to rain Symmachus. 
Both parties failed in the offensive. 

ΔΒ a good deal of literature rose round the relatio (Rel. 3) 
about Victory, an abstract of it may be given. Symmachus begins 
by a reference to the former deputation, which was not received 
through the machinations of evil men. However he now appears 
in a twofold capacity, as Prefect of the City and envoy of the 
Senate. ‘There is no conflict of interests. All are concerned in 
the glory of the age and the maintenance of ancestral usage. So 
it is asked that the state of things which long blessed the republic 
may be restored. Earlier princes maintained and later ones allowed 
the old ceremonies, and what is so familiar as the altar of Victory ? 


Symmachus 155 


Let the name (nomen), if not the goddess (nwmen), have its dignity. 
The Emperors owe much to Victory. It has long been an orna- 
ment of the curia, and the pledge of the honour of the Senate 
who swore truth on it. Constantius may have interfered with 
this, but he respected the Vestals. He came, he saw, he tolerated 
and preserved Roman usages. Different nations have different 
faiths, That is best which is most helpful to the State, so ex- 
perience may decide where reason wavers. Rome personified asks 
leave to live in her own way. ‘The great secret can hardly be 
reached by one only path, and it is only fair to suppose that what- 
ever men worship is one after all. However, to turn from dis- 
cussion to entreaty. What does the Treasury gain by robbing the 
Vestals? Rather let it grow rich on the spoils of the foe than the 
pillage of the priests. It is especially invidious to take money 
without the plea of need. The Treasury will not allow the 
Vestals to inherit land, though freedmen may. Thus it is better 
to be the slave of man than the servant of the gods. Is not this 
also to interfere with liberty of testation? It never was to the 
State’s advantage to be ungrateful. In fact disaster and famine 
have even now followed in the steps of sacrilege. Let it not be 
said this is to be given to a strange religion. It is not a gift, it 
is a debt made so by long usage. It is not the Emperor who gives 
this, as he may be told [as Ambrose did tell him], for it was given 
long ago. The deputation only ask the continuance of the state 
of things which gave the Emperor’s father empire and heirs [a 
tacit contrast with Gratian, perhaps]. That deified sire from the 
_ starry zenith now looks down on the tears of the priests, and finds 
himself condemned when the use he maintained is violated. 
Ambrose was again too strong for the pagans. Now for the 
Christian plot. Symmachus had been charged to recover temple 
property, and the tale was invented that he had in doing so been 
guilty of torturing Christian priests. It brought down on him 
an imperial censure, but he triumphantly cleared himself by pro- 
ducing evidence to shew he had so far taken no steps at all, and 
procuring a letter in his favour from Pope Damasus (fel. 21). 
Symmachus however had a real loss in this year in the death 
of his friend Praetextatus, and he was subjected to a good deal 
of annoyance in the matter of the property of Orfitus. So in 
autumn 385 he gave up office He was still a person of conse- 
quence and was regarded as the leading man of the Senate. It 
was in this year he was asked, while still Prefect, to recommend 


156 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


a teacher of rhetoric for Milan, who should travel at the public cost 
to take up his duties. Augustine tells us how he set his Manichaean 
friends to canvass for him, and how after giving an exhibition of 
his powers to Symmachus he was appointed, and on reaching Milan 
was kindly received by Ambrose, who was, notwithstanding con- 
troversy, a friend and correspondent of Symmachus’. 

In his despatches to Valentinian 11. Symmachus had used 
some striking expressions of loyalty. ‘Believe me, you (the 
Emperors) possess the secrets of all hearts” (Rel. 9). He commits 
the gratitude which he feels, but cannot fulfil, to the powers of 
heaven (Rel. 7). “Ὁ city accepted of heaven and the stars, on 
which you have so freely lavished the good things of every land” 
(Rel. 9). The year 387 shewed (if it was necessary) the value of 
such phrases. The usurper Maximus, who had killed Gratian, now 
drove Valentinian from the West, and Rome made her submission. 
Symmachus delivered a panegyric in his honour and in the fol- 
lowing year did so again. In 388 Maximus fell before Theodosius 
at the battle of Aquileia, and everyone had to make haste to 
change sides. Symmachus’ adventures are not recorded by himself, 
but the tale survives in Socrates the Church historian (v. 14). 

“This Symmachus was an eminent man in the Roman Senate, 
and was admired for his mastery of Roman eloquence, and there 
are in fact many speeches written by him in the Roman tongue. 
While Maximus then still lived, he wrote and recited a panegyric 
to him, and so became liable to the charge of treason. Accordingly 
in fear of death he fled to the church. Now the Emperor was — 
so careful of the Christian religion that he not only exceedingly 
honoured the priests of his own faith, but he also gladly received 
Novatians who held the Homoousion (the Nicene symbol), At 
the request of Leontius, bishop of the church of the Novatians 
in Rome, he yielded and pardoned Symmachus. On obtaining 
forgiveness Symmachus wrote a speech of apology to the Emperor 
Theodosius.” 

It must have been an interesting speech, but it is lost. Theo- 
dosius became friendly with him and made him consul for the 
year 391. Once more the altar of Victory came up, and Ambrose 
again intervened and refused for some days to see the Emperor, 
whom he supposed to be wavering (Zp. lvii. 4). Symmachus intro- 

1 Conf. v. 13, 23. I believe Augustine was studying rhetoric and reading 


Cicero’s Hortensius at Carthage while Symmachus was proconsul (Conf. iii. 4), 
but there is no suggestion of their meeting. 


Symmachus 157 


duced the matter into a complimentary oration he was making to 
the Emperor at Milan. Theodosius blazed into passion and had 
the orator seized, put on a carriage without cushions and driven 
posthaste to the hundredth milestone’. Even so the matter was 
again brought before the Emperor next year in Gaul, far away from 
Ambrose, as the saint points out, and he was still obdurate. 

In 392 Eugenius was Emperor, the puppet of Arbogast the 
Frank. Symmachus, wise by experience, was careful, but still Fabius 
Symmachus was made quaestor. ‘This was a mistake, and Fabius 
took pains to eliminate from his father’s letters as far as possible 
all references to the usurper, though one or two escaped him. 
Flavian, Symmachus’ friend, lost his life for Eugenius in the defeat 
on the river Frigidus, and the younger Flavian, Symmachus’ 
son-in-law, had apparently to turn Christian to conciliate the victo- 
rious Theodosius—a fact worth remembering in view of Claudian’s 
panegyric. Augustine (C. D. v. 26) curiously quotes Claudian’s 
poem and refers to this laudable clemency in the same chapter. 
The young man was forgiven and became a little later Prefect of 
the City, but he had great trouble relative to the money matters 
of the department his father had filled under the usurper. 

Once more in 397 Symmachus had to face danger. Gildo, the 
brother of Firmus, rebelled in Africa, and had the corn supplies 
for Rome at his mercy. ΤῸ declare war on him meant to stop 
the corn-ships at once, and this meant riot at Rome. To make 
sure that the odium of this should fall not on the Emperors but 
on the Senate, and to save the former from any trouble with the 
latter in consequence of popular disturbance, Stilicho consulted 
the Senate and made it vote for war. It was many years since 
the Senate had had such a compliment, but it was costly. The 
corn failed, there were riots, and Symmachus was for a little time 
the object of popular ill-will and had to withdraw, but all was 
soon tranquil. 

His last years were devoted to his son, his son’s marriage, 
_the games Fabius was to give as praetor, and his health. It is 
not certain when he died. Seeck says the year is 402, but it 
seems clear he was living when Prudentius wrote his reply to the 
great elatio, and that was just after the so-called victory of 

1 Prosper, de promiss. Dei, iii. 38, 2. 

2 Claudian (Cons. Stil. i. 325 1.) soars on this occasion; Romuleas leges 
rediisse fatemur | cum procerum jussis famulantia cernimus arma—a good phrase 


representing no doubt what Stilicho wished the Senate to think for the 
moment. 


158 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Pollentia in 403, so soon after it, apparently, that the doubts 
which Claudian found it so hard to lay, had not yet been raised 
about the result of the battle. 

We may now turn to Symmachus in his relations with his 
family and his friends. The first thing that will strike the English 
reader is the extraordinary formality with which he addresses his 
correspondents. A very large number of the letters—a strangely 
large number—contain elaborate excuses for not writing, and as 
elaborate requests for letters, with studied admiration of the cor- 
respondent’s style and profound humility on Symmachus’ part on 
account of his poverty in composition’. “I am poor in speech,” 
he writes (iv. 27), ‘‘and economical of paper.” “I have always, 
like rivers in drought, shrunk from wide banks, that an affectation 
of brevity may conceal my poverty...f could wish that like the 
Aborigines we might exchange our greetings on a bit of stick or 
cork; and let Egypt have devised her rolls of papyrus for the 
libraries and the forum” (iv. 28). Still he has to keep writing 
every day, though he has little to say. ‘How long shall we 
babble (blaterabimus) the words of mutual salutation, without other 
matter for the pen? In days of old our fathers would fill their 
friendly pages with business of state—but of this there is little or 
nothing to-day. Of this resource the peace of our times has de- 
prived us, so we have to hunt for untried seeds of correspondence 
(semina scribendi) to wipe away the weariness of commonplace 
letters” (Hp. ii. 35). It was after all the artificial style which 
appealed to his correspondents, as we may see in Fabius’ method 
of editing. He sorted out the letters into groups, putting by 
themselves all addressed to the same person, and published them 
without any further effort at arrangement, and with no consideration 
for chronology. Indeed in one case at least he confused a father 
and son and left their letters mixed. After some time spent on this 
arduous work, he let it drop altogether and made his secretaries 
copy off his father’s letters as they stood in his portfolios without 
attempting any order at all—books viii. and ix. are the result. 
The relationes, like Pliny’s letters to Trajan, stand by themselves. 


Seeck has been at enormous pains to date as far as possible all 
the letters. 


1 All these are the constant characteristics of the epistolary style taught by 
the rhetoricians. There are letters enough of Julian and Synesius, both men of 
higher type, which shew the same features. See Volkmann, Synesius v. Cyrene, 
p. 116, and especially Rohde, der griechische Roman, pp. 341 ff., on letter-writing 
as a regular branch of sophistic composition. 


Symmachus ' 159 


If then the collection offers little aid toward an ordered life 
of Symmachus, we may still find in it abundant evidence of his 
character. His letters to his father speak the admiration and 
affection of a dutiful son. He submits verses to his father’s 
criticism with much nervousness, though he knows his father can- 
not resist paying the most lavish compliments. ‘ What could 
be neater than your letter, just received? what more delightful 
than its intermixture of verses?” writes Avianius, and he proceeds 
to tell his son he is writing poetical tributes to some eighty great 
men of his time, and he sends five samples. ‘hey consist of six 
tolerable hexameters each and are all very pretty and polite and 
nothing more. Their chief value is to shew how much better and 
more lively are Ausonius’ similar productions 

Rusticiana, Symmachus’ wife, is hardly mentioned in the letters. 
Once or twice reference is made to her estates, once to her birthday, 
and once to her not being very well. Nearly all Symmachus’ 
relatives cause him anxiety on this score. 

There is a large number of letters addressed to his son-in-law 
and his daughter. One gathers the impression that the orator was 
a little in dread of the lady’s temper sometimes. ~She must not be 
annoyed, he says on one occasion, at his delaying the horses she 
needs for some journey (vi. 12). He is very anxious about her 
health—is she taking care of it? Here is a letter (vi. 4)}, 

‘“‘The suffering I have to bear from the pain in my right hand 
your bad news has doubled. ‘The keener anxiety racks me, that I 
know my daughter cannot be persuaded to be moderate in eating 
and drinking. Worried therefore by distress of mind and disease of 
body, I could not wait till I could write myself; but by a hurried 
dictation I have satisfied my alarm, if I have broken my rule. And 
first, I implore you to relieve my fears by a reply: and then, lady 
daughter (domina jfilia), I pray you in particular to avoid what does 
not suit your well-being and to mend your health, so often broken, 
by the aid of temperance. Because it not only promotes health- 
fulness, but is a testimony of our good sense, to abstain from what . 
is dangerous. Farewell.” 

Then she needs rest and quiet (vi. 15). Is she really better or 
not? (vi. 20). By and by, she has overdone the abstinence and her 
health suffers again, and he is very anxious, beside being gouty (vi. 


1 There is a lively little note written by Synesius to a physician on ὀλιγοσιτία, 
to whom he quotes Hippocrates as his authority for its being the ‘‘mother of 
health,” Ep. 115. 


160 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


29). He is happy to hear a purge has given her relief and has also 
reduced the inflammation of her eyes—was it necessary to bleed her 
as well? he anxiously asks (vi. 64). His daughter’s bad health 
requires the solace of her husband’s presence, and the weakness of 
his stomach forbids him to go to her, so with other difficulties 
coinciding Symmachus hardly knows what to advise (vi. 59). 
Another source of anxiety is his little granddaughter Galla, who is 
ill at the same time as her mother, but by the gods’ blessing 
(opitulatio divina) he hopes for good news. He will take it as a 
mark of true affection if his daughter will take care of herself and 
let him have better reports of their progress (vi. 22). 

We have one or two letters acknowledging her birthday gifts, 
He is delighted with her lanificiwm ; it shews her love as daughter 
and her diligence as a matron; it is quite like the famous women 
of old, but that they lived in a dull age which was congenial to the 
distaff, while she lived at Baiae (vi. 67). Another year, he says it 
was a tradition of many years for him to receive the gifts, and he is 
the more grateful for being brief in his thanks, but urges it on her 
as a filial duty to take care of her health (vi. 48). 

To his son he was even more devoted. He personally took 
charge of his health, his education, and his future renown. Pignus 
meum and unicus meus, ‘“‘my only son,” come over and over in the 
letters. He writes to a friend; ‘‘ While my son is being initiated 
into Greek, I have once more taken part in his studies as if a 
schoolfellow. A father’s feelings (pietas) bid one become a boy 
again, that the sharing of the toil may make the lessons pleasant to 
one’s children. For you however things are not in the budding 
stage, but at harvest time; for I find your son is most eloquent 
and pressing hard on the heels of his father’s proficiency. O happy 
man, my friend, if you are surpassed! My care is still to encourage 
the blossom, and I cannot exact hard work from my only boy. 
Still between my fears and my persistence my dear one’s progress 
is sure if slow” (iv. 20). 

Fabius was made quaestor by Eugenius the usurper, an episode 
the family tried to forget, and later on the praetorship was given 
him by Honorius for 400, the date being changed however to 401. 
The only duty attached to these offices was to give on each occasion 
a great show in Rome. Symmachus felt this to be most important. 
He strongly disapproved of the neglect with which some Roman 
nobles treated this part of their duty, and emphasized with how 
little expense after all it might be done (ix. 126). Yet he got a 


Symmachus 161 


law to limit extravagance in displays of the kind, and broke it for 
Fabius’ glory. 

Some half dozen letters refer to the quaestorship—contemporary 
letters. He writes to Paternus, who was a Christian, about hunters 
for the arena (v. 59), to some one else about ornaments and especi- 
ally robes which he describes in a very modern way as partly silk 
(subsericas, v. 20). Flavian sent him seven Scottish dogs which 
were greatly admired (ii. 77), and Symmachus writes to him to ask 
his kindly offices with one Domitius, who has promised bears which 
are desperately needed and not to hand. Some few cubs have 
indeed arrived, but worn out by starvation and travel, and he can 
hear nothing of his lions (ii. 76). But there was a more cruel blow 
yet, and he had need to remind himself of Socrates’ way of 
supposing all to be for the best, however disappointing, when he 
found that some twenty-nine Saxons (desperate race!) had laid 
impious hands on themselves and strangled themselves or one 
another to escape the arena and death before the populace (ii. 46). 
For Symmachus stood for gladiatorial shows and had as Prefect 
congratulated the Emperor after a victory over the Sarmatians on 
“reserving some of the prisoners for the pleasure of the people of 
Mars” (fel. 47). They had been marched through the streets and 
“we saw the shackled column of the conquered race in procession, 
and those faces once so warlike altered to a wretched pallor.” 

On Fabius’ praetorian games he is said to have spent £80,000, 
and we have a large number of letters appealing to his friends to 
aid him in purchasing Spanish horses’ and to hasten their delivery. 
Bears, leopards, antelopes, charioteers, stage-carpenters, trappings 
fill his letters. This time the robes are to be all silk (holosericae, 
iv. 8). He had some crocodiles, which he exhibited, and he wanted 
to save them for his daughter and her husband to see, but for fifty 
days they would not eat and they had to be killed at the second 
show (vi. 42). In this connexion a couple of letters on the custom- 
house are interesting. An attempt was made to charge a friend of 
Symmachus a duty of 2 per cent. on some bears imported by him 
for the arena. ‘Traders in beasts had to pay this, but candidates 
who gave shows for the people's amusement were usually and not 


1 So many letters relating to Spanish horses have been preserved, that one 
feels tempted to suppose Ammianus was not far wrong when he grumbled at the 
passion for horse-flesh among ‘‘grave men, and maintainers of the virtues, as 
they think” (xxviii. 4, 11). An interesting account of an African magnate’s stud 
and the magical devices of the jockeys is given by Boissier, L’ Afrique Romaine, 
ch. tv. § 8. (Engl. tr. p. 173.) 


G. 11 


162 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


improperly freed from the impost (v. 62). Very soon Symmachus 
has to intercede for another friend, on whom an attempt has been 
made to levy 24 per cent., also on bears. One burden is enough, he 
says (v. 65). 

The business of capturing and transporting wild beasts had been 
for centuries an enormous one, and one of the most wasteful 
methods of exhausting the Empire. Claudian twice sets the minor 
powers of heaven to collect beasts for the circus, and his deserip- 
tions are contemporary with the letters of Symmachus. They are 
elaborate and have some interest as history, but as poetry they fail’. 

In 401 Symmachus married his son to the granddaughter of 
Flavian, and we have a number of polite little letters sending little 
gifts to friends in celebration of the occasion. ‘The same had been 
done when Fabius was quaestor and praetor. 

Symmachus had a wide circle of friends, and though it may be 
said that his views on friendship are by no means original, yet it is 
clear that friendships were a large part of his life. ‘“ My feeling is 
that my friends’ prosperity is part of my own good fortune. And, 
in truth, how many happy days can a man have who only reckons 
his own advantages? He has a wider joy who can enjoy another's 
happiness” (iii. 24). “Is there any one so hard-hearted as to see 
the sorrow of many without feeling pain?” (vy. 12). “Favours 
seem to me to confer more on him who gives them” (vii. 46). 
“he mind finds its own sorrow lightened, when it directs itself 
to kindly offices” (ii. 32). ‘True friendship feels such security, 
that it finds in its own loyalty an assurance of mutual affection” 
(iv. 30). 

Full accounts of his friends, their fames and families, are given 
by Seeck in his great Introduction. ‘To one or two of them I have 
already alluded. One however calls for special notice. Vettius 
Agorius Praetextatus (b. 330 or earlier, d. 384) was the most 
eminent of the heathen in Rome. He was a scholar, an antiquarian, 
something of a philosopher and a mystic. In his house Macrobius 
laid the opening scene of his Saturnalia, and he is a leading 
character in the discussions. He held a number of priesthoods and 
made a point of being initiated into all possible mysteries—a 
privilege he extended to his wife. He won high praise from 
Ammianus for his integrity and sense in his government of Rome 


1 See Paneg. Manl. Theod, 280—332 and Cons. Stil. iii. 237—369. Cf. too 
Amm. Mare. xxviii. 4, 283—31 on the races. 


Symmachus 163 


when he was Prefect’. He had the distinction of settling the 
quarrel of Ursinus and Damasus for the Roman See, by expelling 
- the former from the city*. In this connexion a story of St Jerome’s 
is interesting—‘ ‘The wretched Praetextatus,” he says, “‘who died 
when consul designate, a sacrilegious person and a worshipper of 
idols, used laughingly to say to the blessed Pope Damasus, ‘Make 
me bishop of the Roman Church, and I will be a Christian at once ’” 
Damasus might forgive this jest to the man who rid him of Ursinus. 
Some eight inscriptions to his memory have been found in Rome 
and one in Crete. ΤῸ one of these I must refer. 

His sepulchral monument*® bears after his name a list of his 
priesthoods, Roman and non-Roman, and the last two titles call 
for attention—tawroboliatus, pater patrum. The pater was the 
seventh grade in the priesthood of Mithras, and the tauroboliwm 
was the baptism of that religion*, he participant stood in a 
pit, the throat of a bull was cut over him, and he was drenched 
with the blood. ‘The bull was the sacred animal of Mithras and 
its blood meant new life and regeneration for eternity—tawrobolio 
in aeternum renatus, says one man in an inscription (C- 7. L. vi. 510). 
Women had usually no place in Mithraism, but the name of 
Praetextatus’ wife, with her priesthoods and tawroboliata, follows 
his own. 

On the same monument are two inscriptions addressed by 
Praetextatus to his wife, and one by her to him, which I translate, 
as it seems to me to exhibit the better side of Roman society in a 
tender and beautiful way. ‘They were married for forty years, and 
she says :— 

“he splendour of my parents gave me nought better than that 
I seemed worthy of my husband; but all my light and glory is my 
lord’s name, thine, Agorius, who, sprung of proud lineage, dost 
illume thy country, the senate and thy wife, by thine honesty of 
heart, thy character and thy studies, whereby thou hast attained 
the highest pinnacle of virtue. For, whatever is set forth in either 
tongue by the thought of the wise to whom heaven’s gate stands 
open, and all the songs the learned have written and all things set 

1 Amm. Mare. xxvii. 9, 8—10. 

2 The famous fight for the bishopric and the historian’s comment, xxvii. 3, 
12—15, which may have been suggested by Jerome’s story, contr. Johann. 
Hierosol. 8. 

3 ΟΝ I, L. vi. 1779. Ihave taken it from Seeck, who quotes it in full. 

4 See an excellent article by A. Gasquet in Revue des Deux Mondes, April Ist, 


1899, on Le culte et les mystéres de Mithra. Also Prudentius, cred. x. 1010— 
1050—a most vivid and realistic account of the taurobolium. 


11—2 


164 Life and Letters\in the Fourth Century 


forth in prose, thou givest forth, but better than thou didst find 
them in the books. But this is of light account; thou, holy and 
initiate, dost lay up in the secret of thy heart what thou hast 
learnt in holy rites, and well-skilled dost adore the manifold 
divinity of the gods, of thy goodness admitting thy wife to the 
sacred things of men and gods, a faithful partner. Why now 
should I tell of office or of power, the joys men seek in prayer? for 
thou, ever reckoning these to be but light and for a season, dost 
boast to be the priest of the gods and wear the fillet. Thou, 
purifying and cleansing me by the blessing of thy teaching, dost 
save me from the lot of death, lead me to the temples and dedicate 
me to the service of the gods; in thy presence I am initiated into 
all the mysteries. Priestess of Cybele and Attis, thou my holy 
spouse dost honour me with the rites of the bull. The handmaid 
of Hecate, thou teachest me the three secrets; thou makest me 
worthy the mysteries of the Greek Ceres. It is because of thee 
that all call me blessed and holy, for thou dost spread my fame 
through the world. Though unknown, I am known to all. For 
how should I fail to please, when thou art my husband? ‘The 
matrons of Rome take an example from me, and count their 
offspring fair if it be like thine. Men and women alike covet and 
approve the glories thou hast given me by thy teaching. Now that 
all this is taken away, I am a sad wife and in sorrow, who had been 
happy had the gods let my husband survive me, yet happy still in 
this that thine I am and have been and thine shall ere long be after 
death.” 

Such a man was Symmachus’ friend Praetextatus, and there were 
others like him, but he also counted among his friends men who 
were neither so pious nor so learned as Praetextatus. Stilicho and 
Bauto (father-in-law of the Emperor Arcadius) were soldiers and 
barbarians, a Vandal and a Frank. Petronius Probus was neither 
saint nor soldier. Ausonius was a poet and said he was a Christian. 
Ambrose was a Christian and a bishop, and not the only one of 
Symmachus’ acquaintance, for beside Damasus who defended him 
against Christian calumny, we find two bishops receiving letters of 
recommendation from him. ‘T'o his brother he wrote; ‘“ You may 
wonder at my recommending a bishop to you, but it is his cause 
and not his sect that has induced me.” It was a bishop Clemens, 
whose Mauretanian diocese had been plundered, apparently by 
Firmus. Moneys belonging to the treasury had been taken, and 
now the treasury was trying to collect its taxes a second time to 


Symunachus 165 


replace what was lost, and the bishop appealed to Symmachus and 
he sent him to his brother (i. 64). Another bishop he introduces as 
“my brother Severus, a bishop whom all the sects [1.6. including 
pagans] agree in calling praiseworthy ” (vii. 51). 

People in all sorts of need appealed to him. Here and there are 
letters recommending sons-in-law (ix. 7, 49). A betrothal has been 
cancelled and Symmachus writes on behalf of the incensed suitor. 
He thinks the lady’s father had been unhandsome (devenustare), and 
that it will be a little rude of him to reject the intercession of 
Symmachus, when the young man’s character and standing are, as 
he knows, excellent (ix. 43). A professor is in distress, and 
Symmachus writes to Flavian:— 

“ His dress and his hair proclaim Serapammon a man of letters, 
for if he had felt he had no share in such things, he would never 
have adopted the-philosopher’s garb. But about this I leave you to 
judge, who profess to understand such things. I felt I could not 
properly refuse an introduction at his request. It will be consistent 
with your character, if you aid the fortunes of the stranger with 
your resources and your kindness” (ii. 61). 

Again, he intercedes for a professor, whose salary is in some 
danger (i. 79), and he lays down the principle that it is the mark 
of a flourishing State that good salaries be paid to professors. It 
is one of the pleasant features of Roman society, or at least of that 
part of it which Symmachus represents, that literature or learning 
is as good a passport into it as wealth or military glory. Ausonius 
and even Eugenius himself had begun as teachers of rhetoric. 

Far too many letters of mere compliment are included in the 
collection—letters in which pretty nothings are “ over-curiously 
trimmed,” till the modern reader is apt to suppose both writer and 
- recipient entirely frivolous. ‘The language is certainly extravagant 
and the tone of mutual admiration unhealthy, but we must re- 
member that the contemporaries of Drake and Shakespeare used the 
most extraordinary phraseology of their Queen. We have to go 
deeper than the form, and Symmachus apart from literature seems 
to have been a very sensible and kindly man. _ 

I quote as an example of his happier style a letter to the young 
Olybrius and Probinus, the sons of Petronius Probus, who were 
consuls in 396, and for whom Claudian wrote his first great Latin 
poem—not nearly so sensible a production. 

“Your hunting bears witness to your fulness of strength and 
vigour. So this is my first reason for pleasure about you, that you 


166 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


are benefiting your health by rustic pleasures. The second stage 
of my happiness is that I should have deserved what you took in 
the chase. For as we are permitted to dedicate the horns of stags 
to the honour of the gods and to fix the tusks of the boar at our 
thresholds, so the fruits of the woods are devoted to friendship. 
Meantime I repudiate the idea that hunting is a business for slaves. 
Granted that a writer [Sallust, Cat. iv. 1] laid this down, who is 
only to be praised for his style—for the damage his character 
sustained disqualifies him as a guide for life—I prefer you to enjoy 
country life with Atilius and follow the sport of strength than to 
be led aside by fair phrases into habits of idleness. At all events 
this exercise suits your years. Youths should be tested not by 
gaming-board or ball or Attic hoop and Greek palaestra, but by 
the ready endurance of fatigue and delight in innocent hardihood. 
It is to this I shall encourage my Symmachus, when he grows old 
enough, though he will have no brother to go with him (quamvis 
unicum). A day will come when, burdened with years, you will have 
to renounce this employment. Then hunting will rightly be called 
a servile business. For it is a sort of slavery, if, when our strength 
fails, we refuse to use the respite from toil which old age grants us” 
(v. 68). 

That the reader may be able to judge from a specimen, I quote 
one of the too many letters of compliment with which Symmachus 
found himself bound to honour his friends. Some of the terms are 
a little hard to translate into rational English. 

“Decency [the word is religio] demanded that I should write, 
especially when an opportunity coming from your own household 
encouraged me. For your man offered himself as letter-carrier, and 
I saw clearly that not to give him a letter would be monstrous guilt. 
So I hope you are well, I inform you that I am, and I hope in 
return that you will reward me with news of your good health” 
(v. 61). 

The French scholar M. Morin, who published an interesting 
monograph on Symmachus in 1847, remarks on the value of the 
letters of Symmachus to the historian, while he gently complains 
that Gibbon made little use of him. Gibbon has however a 
footnote on him, which is very characteristic:—‘‘The luxuriancy 
of Symmachus consists in barren leaves without fruit and even 
without flowers. Few facts and few sentiments can be extracted 


1 99 


from his verbose correspondence’.” It is certainly true that if 
1 Gibbon iii. 410, n. 16. 


Symmachus 167 


Symmachus were our only authority for his period, its history 
would be all but a blank. It is only as a tributary to another 
source of information that he is of the least value. One might 
learn from him the names of the Emperors, but hardly another fact 
but that Valentinian was a soldier. Maximus and Eugenius are of 
course obscured. Apart from the affair of the altar of Victory and 
the accidental allusions to a bishop or two, one hears nothing of 
Christianity’. To the barbarians he makes no allusion in his 
letters. Now and then he speaks of the country districts being in 
distress. “It has come to be the practice in our days,” he says, 
“that the country which used to feed us has to be fed”’ (i. 5). We 
hear of brigandage (ii. 22), and there is an end of it. 

He hardly refers to the Empire, except in the panegyrics already 
quoted. ‘The Emperor is always spoken of in the language of 
worship. His words are oracles, his person sacred, himself actually 
royal—‘‘all men love him as the god who feeds mankind ” (iii. 82). 
(This phrase ‘was meant for the sacred ears, though in a private 
letter.) Once however he says to an Emperor that “the Empire 
has grown because you rule over free men” (Or. iv. 13)—a sentiment 
much elaborated by Claudian. 

Of official tyranny and mismanagement, of the severity and 
cruelty to which subjects were submitted with little consideration of 
guilt or innocence, we hear a good deal. ‘l'ake an example (v. 63). 
The treasury officials of Italy have started a new trick (stropha). 
They forge claims against persons as debtors to the treasury and 
exact them. ‘The weak give way because they are bullied; the 
strong, because to resist may be made into treason. In this at all 
events Symmachus confirms the impression we get from Ammianus. 

The Senate is of course the centre of Symmachus’ immediate 
political life, and his friends are mainly of the nobility. Many of 
them still had enormous wealth. Possibly Petronius Probus was 
the richest, though Ammianus (xxvii. 11, 1) amiably says it is not 
for his poor judgment to decide whether he came by all his estates 
justly or unjustly. Symmachus himself had a surprising number 
of country villas, residences and lodges at various places near and 


1 Kutropius, the historian, a friend of Symmachus, managed in the same 
way to write of Constantine without a reference to his conversion, and concludes 
atque inter Divos meruit referri (x. 2, 8). 

2 Tn his panegyric on Gratian, it was impossible not to allude to them when 
the orator had followed a campaign against them on the Rhine and Neckar, but 
he has found a prophecy ‘‘Thus far and no farther”—Hactenus nomen stetisse 
barbaricum (Or, 111. 12). 


168 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


about Rome and in Campania, and estates in Samnium, Apulia, 
Sicily and Mauretania. Seeck has collected a great list from the 
letters’. 

Yet the manners of these great men were not always nice. 
Symmachus hints at one brawl in the Senate, and “is ashamed to 
tell what charges and bad language the best men threw at one 
another” (vi. 22). He had however been absent. The times were, 
no doubt, improving in some ways, as we can see in Macrobius, but 
slavery still tainted society with cruelty. Apart from the gladia- 
torial shows, to which I have referred, we find once or twice in 
the letters allusions to slavery; ¢.g. the punishment of a slave, who 
went off without waiting for an answer to a letter, and “it lies in 
your hands whether you allow this to go unavenged [inultum, 
rather more than unpunished, but not quite so much as un- 
avenged]” (vi, 8)"; and again a request to a magistrate, which may 
be quoted at length. 

“My first reason for writing is to pay you the compliment of a 
greeting, my second to present a petition to the magistrate whose 
love of law I know so well (probatam mihi modestiam). For a 
good many slaves of my establishment have run away and lie hid in 
the region under your care. I should like you to hear my agent’s 
allegations and restore these persons ; for it is only consistent with 
your character to consider our friendship and deny a refuge to the 
iniquity of slaves (servili nequitiae). Farewell” (ix. 140). 

The letter leaves an uneasy feeling. It is too suggestive of 
Fugitive Slaves Bills. No doubt many masters shared the feelings 
Macrobius puts into Praetextatus’ mouth in the Saturnalia, that 
slaves were men—‘“‘slaves no doubt, but still men; they are slaves; 
rather, say fellow-slaves, if you reflect that Fortune has equal power 
over both....He may be slave of stern necessity, but perhaps he is a 
slave whose mind is free (like Epictetus)” (Saturn. i. 11,7). Yet 
Praetextatus in the same speech says, “ We masters put on the 
minds of tyrants, and we wish to be limited in our treatment of our 
slaves not by what is fitting but by what is lawful” (7b. i. 11, 14). 
However gentle slavery may be, it still is slavery*. 

1 Symmachus ‘‘had three villas in the immediate neighbourhood of Rome, 
seven in other parts of Latium, five on the bay of Naples and probably several 
others of which we do not know.” Seeck, Gesch. des Untergangs der Antiken 
Welt, p. 379. See also his Introduction to the Letters. 

2? Ammianus (xxviii. 4, 16) speaks of 300 lashes being ordered by a Roman 
master for a slave, who was slow in bringing warm water—an ominous parallel, 


I am afraid. 
3 Both passages are from Seneca, Ep. 47, but as Macrobius considered the 


Symmachus 169 


It may be fairly urged that Symmachus was not writing history 
and that broad views were not required of him. Yet the narrow 
range of his interests is significant. He lived in a very narrow 
world. It was no longer the Rome of Cicero or Augustus. ‘The 
seats of government were Constantinople and Milan; and Rome 
was a provincial town with a history. On that history Symmachus 
and his friends lived. They were subjects now and not rulers’, and 
had little chance of making history except by accident or by 
attaching themselves to the court and leaving Rome. Symmachus 
had great difficulty in prevailing on Flavianus to go East to become 
secretary to the Emperor—‘to utter in oracles the mind of the 
august prince” (ii. 8). Except in the case of men of learning and 
physicians, they had no concern with their fellow-subjects abroad’. 
Even for the “fellows without grandfathers” (terrae jilios) and 
“»lebeian society” Symmachus betrays his contempt (i. 3). In 
literature it was the same. hey read the recognized Latin classics ἢ 
and imitated them as carefully as they could. Pliny the younger 
was Symmachus’ especial model. The writers of the day who can 
boast any life, are not Italian. Ammianus and Macrobius were 
Greek, Augustine a Latin of Africa, Prudentius a Spaniard, 
Sulpicius a Gaul, Claudian some kind of Egyptian, whether Greek 
or Latin. It is from such men and not from Symmachus that one 
obtains the truest picture of the Roman world. 

Symmachus missed the meaning of Rome through his narrow 
conservatism. So in religion he held fast by paganism more from a 
sense of its traditional propriety than from faith. No doubt he 
constantly refers to the gods in such phrases as “by the divine 
blessing,” “by the peace of the gods” and so forth’, and he was 
in his dignified way a pious person, but without much religious 
enthusiasm or reflexion. He stood for the altar of Victory stoutly, 


letter worth quoting in this way and re-inforecing with examples from Gellius, 
we may still consider it not without value as evidence for his own day. 

1 Lact. de M. P. 26, Galerius, devouring the world with taxation, ad hanc 
usque prosiluit insaniam ut ab hac captivitate ne populum quidem Romanum fier 
vellet immunem. ; 

2 Ammianus (xiv. 6, 12—13) says even these distinguished strangers were 
only welcome once. 

3 Ammianus (xxviii. 4, 14) says the Roman gentry confined themselves to 
Juvenal and Marius Maximus, who are not in Seeck’s list of Symmachus’ authors, 
Lucretius seems not to have been read. His verse repelled the taste of the age, 
his philosophy its faith, Augustine refers to him once, de Util. Cred. 4, 10. 

4 That he should use such phrases at all marks the change of Roman feeling 
since the days of Cicero, whose mind is revealed by such passages as this to his 
wife (ad Fam. xiv. 4, 1): neque di, quos tu castissime coluisti, neque homines, 
quibus ego semper servivi, nobis gratiam retulerunt. 


170 =© Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


and he stood for the traditional rather than the modern chariot in 
the procession. He was careful about the expiation of a portent at 
Spoletium (i. 49). He was opposed to the erection by the Vestals 
of a monument to his friend Praetextatus—it was an innovation. 
But if he had been forced to state his ultimate belief about the 
divine, it must have been a general impression that it—or they— 
had a benevolent nature, or, if this be too strong, a preference for 
hoping it were true. Many ways might lead to the great secret, 
but it was a Roman’s part to be content with the way his fathers 
took, and if necessary console himself with the thought that, if these 
things were obscure, antiquity was more likely to be right. His 
passion was for antiquity and for religion as part of its inheritance. 

Is it any marvel that Julian was disappoimted with a pagan 
community, of which Symmachus was a truer type than himself, 
which was content with lazy generalities and ready to turn Christian 
to oblige Theodosius or to soothe him, which in a word had no 
- convictions ? 

Still, we must be just to Symmachus. The traditions of his 
family and of his city, his education and his environment made it 
difficult for a man of no great mental power to take a wide outlook, 
and if he preferred to spend his days “patching up his health, 
avoiding disturbance and always loving literature” (iv. 44), if his 
ideals were not strenuous, he passed through life with the respect of 
Christian as well as pagan, the type of an honourable and cultured 
Roman gentleman. 


CHAPTER VIII 


MACROBIUS 


Vetustas quidem nobis semper, si sapimus, adoranda est. 
Sat. ili, 14, 2 


Tne work of a commentator may be of interest in either or both 
of two ways. He may win attention for what he contributes to the 
explanation and interpretation of the author with whom he deals, 
or he may be interesting for what he reveals of himself or his age. 
In the case of a great commentator it is sometimes hard to say for 
which reason he is read. Do the majority of his readers study 
Calvin for the sake of St Paul or for Calvin’s own sake? But there 
are men of far less note, men who cannot claim genius, originality 
or even insight, whose commentaries are.of value for the light they 
throw upon the feelings and the tastes of their day. Among these 
we may place Macrobius. He preserves, no doubt, a great deal of 
matter, of which the student of Virgil would be sorry to be deprived, 
though it certainly could not be called indispensable, but it is 
mainly as an exponent of the mind of Roman society at the end 
of the fourth century that he merits attention. Claudian was a man 
of genius; Symmachus and Macrobius were not, but their remains 
help to complete his picture of the times. It is mainly to this part 
of Macrobius’ work that I shall devote the following pages. 

_ One point however demands notice first of all. One aspect of 
Roman life is carefully ignored by Macrobius as by Claudian, and is 
but accidentally mentioned by Symmachus. No reference is made 
to Christianity, or to any thing or any person connected with it. 
Yet it touched at many points the lives of the men Macrobius 
presents to us. Praetextatus, Symmachus and Flavian are chiefly 
conspicuous because they were its last great opponents, Flavian even 
falling in battle against it. Of the others Caecina Albinus, pontifex 


172 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


as he was, had a Christian wife; his daughter Laeta was a corre- 
spondent of St Jerome’s; and his little granddaughter Paula, who 
was dedicated to the nunnery from her birth, is pictured by the 
Saint (Zp. 107, 1) singing her childish Alleluia to her pagan grand- 
father, as she sat on his knee. The other Albinus is variously called 
Furius and Rufius in the manuscripts, and if Rufius was his name, 
as Seeck believes, he was a Christian himself. Macrobius then was 
not silent about Christianity because he knew nothing of it. His 
silence is, on the contrary, as significant as anything he could say. 
A contemporary of Augustine, Ambrose, Jerome, Chrysostom and 
Theodosius, he chooses to know nothing of their faith, It was 
victorious, and his revenge is silence. 

Apart from his books little can be said of the man. The books 
are dedicated to his son Eustachius, and’ he hopes his son will find 
his language correct and a good model, though he was “‘born under 
another sky” (nos sub alio ortos caelo, Sat. Praef. 11). We might, 
from his knowledge of Greek literature, suppose this other sky to 
have been that of Greece, or, if not of the Greece of geography, of 
that wider Greece which embraced the Eastern World. But it is 
suggested he may have been born in Africa’. We have really no 
evidence. A priori probabilities are quite valueless here. Augustine 
was an African and knew Greek literature chiefly in translations ; 
Apuleius read Greek before he read Latin. Nor can we say with 
van Jan, his great editor, that, if a Greek, Macrobius would hardly 
have written in Latin. Ammianus and Hierius, and perhaps 
Claudian, were Greeks. Attempts have been made to identify 
Macrobius with one or other of several contemporary officials, who 
bore the name, and in one case we should have to suppose he 
became in later life a Christian, but there is no probability, or at 
least no certainty, in any of these identifications. We are thus 
left to what he says of himself. If we cannot learn his history, we 
can at least form some idea of his mind. 

Three works remain which bear his name. One, to which 
I shall not further refer, is grammatical and deals with the differences 
of the Greek and the Latin verb. The Saturnalia and the 


1 Van Jan inclines this way. Petit (de Macrobio Ciceronis interprete, Paris, 
1866) holds to the Greek origin. Macrobius in the mss has also the name 
Ambrosius, on the strength of which Petit identifies him with Ambrosius, a 
correspondent of Libanius. The evidence he cites from the letters is quite 
inconclusive: Ambrosius is an official; he is interested in reading; and a 
rhetorician, by name Eusebius, is introduced to him. Sixty persons named 
Eusebius are enumerated by Fabricius (v. Jan, i. p. xxx). 


Macrobius 173 


Commentary on Scipio's Dream, in spite of an elaborate fulness which 
betrays the professional teacher, are really interesting books and not 
unworthy of study. I shall not attempt a close analysis of them, 
but content myself with remarking the salient points which make 
themselves felt on a general survey of the books, and first of the 
Saturnalia. 

That the book owes something to the Noctes Atticae of Gellius 
is very evident. Apart from material freely borrowed (without 
acknowledgment) the name Macrobius gave his book and the lan- 
guage of his preface suggest Gellius, Gellius tells us there were many 
books like his, with all sorts of fanciful titles to indicate the variety 
of their contents, books of extracts and notes and criticisms set down 
in any order or no order—Amalthea’s Horn, for instance, Muses, 
Honeycombs, Lamps, Quilts, Manuals and so forth. He himself, 
in memory of the place and time of his studies’ beginning, calls 
his book Attic Nights’. Macrobius avows the same design. His 
book is to gather together the fruits of his reading, but (and we are to 
understand the advance made here) it will present them in an ordered 
and digested form, for the mind, like the stomach, will not bear un- 
digested matter ; it may load the memory, but it will not help the 
intelligence (ingenium). He chooses the form of a dialogue, 

He would hardly do so to-day perhaps’, but to say nothing 
of Plato and Cicero, whose dialogues have really something of 
discussion about them, there is abundant precedent for the use of 
this style of composition for matter frankly more suitable for the 
dictionary or the encyclopedia. ‘The Deipnosophists of Athenaeus 
is the most terrible monument of energy turned in this direction, 
Again, the Convivial Questions or Symposiacs of Plutarch, a work 
from which Macrobius borrowed most of his seventh book, may also 
have suggested this method. The Questions, however, Archbishop 
Trench says*, are no fancy pieces, but brief records of conversations 
which actually sprang up at entertainments in which Plutarch took 
part, and at the request of a friend they were cast into their present 
shape from notes taken at the time. Gellius too has chapters 
professing to be from life, and there was also the precedent of Varro. 


1 For Gellius, see Prof. Nettleship’s essay in his Essays in Latin Literature, i. 
Comparetti, Vergil in the Middle Ages, pt. τ. ὁ. 4, and Boissier, La Fin du 
Paganisme, vol. i. pp. 178—180, will also be found interesting. 

2 Yet a Hebrew Grammar, widely used, consisted in its first edition of 
**Letters to a Duchess,” and a much reprinted work on the Mystics was cast 
in the form of a series of conversations “over wine and walnuts,” 

® Lectures on Plutarch, 2nd ed, p. 20, an interesting work. 


.174 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Nor indeed was the deliberate dialogue yet dead, as readers of 
St Augustine will remember. More than one of the discussions at 
Cassisiacum were reported there and then by notarii, though doubtless 
Augustine remembered Cicero, when he drew up the De Beata Vita 
and the rest for publication. Even points of grammar and etymology 
were sometimes discussed at the dinner-table. It was a favourite 
diversion of the Emperor Tiberius. No doubt, before Philology 
became scientific, it was a game at which all could play, who had a 
little fancy and a slight knowledge of Greek, a language from which 
Latin was largely derived’. 

With all these precedents, whatever may have been his special 
reason, Macrobius chose to make a dialogue of his material, and 
like Plato and Athenaeus put the whole thing into the mouth of a 
man with a memory, who had been present at the supposed gathering. 
We are apt to forget at times that we are reading the story of a 
conversation, though now and again Macrobius remembers to remind 
us of the fact. Servius, for example, in a discourse obviously tran- 
scribed from a note-book, speaks of “his memory serving him at the 
moment.” Here and there we have some by-play, which we 
generally owe to the outspokenness of Evangelus, the “villain” of 
the piece. After some forty consecutive Teubner pages of theology, 
the author apologizes, we may perhaps say, by letting the guests 
express their admiration of Praetextatus by a wide-eyed stare in 
silence, broken at last by rapturous praise of his knowledge and his 
memory (i. 24. 1)*. 

Macrobius frankly avows that the conversation never took place, 
and he even says he is not sure that all his characters could very well 
have met for such a purpose. For they are all, so far as we know, 
real people, most of them undoubtedly so. And in this, in spite of 
passages where we forget it is dialogue, lies some of the value of the 
book. ‘The characters were deliberately chosen for their parts, and 
we may thus use Macrobius to supplement what we learn elsewhere. 
So the book, with all its faults, illustrates the age, its tastes and 
feelings, social, literary, philosophical and religious. 

The supposed gathering may, M. Emile Thomas says*, be dated 
380. Τὸ some of the characters I have already alluded. ‘T'wo 
remain to be considered. One is the grammarian Servius, who is 

1 Nettleship, Essays, i. p. 213, on Verrius Flaccus. 

2 Yet we should remember that even grammarians like rhetoricians would 
sometimes improvise in the theatre addresses in comment on some passage 


supplied at the moment; see Rohde, der Gr. Roman, p. 309, n. 1. 
3 Scoliastes de Virgile, p. 135, 


Macrobius 175 


introduced as a young but very learned man. He is loth to speak 
among a company so eminent for learning and divine lore, and has to 
be pressed to conquer his blushes. It is curious to note that when the 
modest scholar does open his mouth, Macrobius puts some passages 
of Gellius into it. One of these may be taken as a fair illustration 
of Macrobius’ method. Gellius says: “Some grammarians of former 
times, men of learning and of note, among them Cornutus Annaeus 
[the teacher of Persius], criticize the word vewasse in the following 
passage as carelessly used and without distinction” and so forth, to 
which he replies at some length. Macrobius lets Avienus make the 
criticism in the terms used by Gellius, and Servius the reply, 
sticking as closely to the Noctes. It is much as if one introduced 
a living scholar into a dialogue to-day and gave him some pages of 
Bentley or Ussher to recite without more ado. There are also 
coincidences between Macrobius and the Commentary of Servius, 
but opinions vary as to whether Macrobius quotes that work, or 
whether it at a later date was enriched or enlarged by an editor 
adding matter from the Saturnalia. 

But perhaps the most interesting character in the book, though 
not in life, is Evangelus. His introduction like so much else is due 
to Gellius. In the Noctes, says Professor Nettleship’, “as a foil to 
the instructed scholar or philosopher, there appears a conceited or 
affected or generally unseasonable individual, whose delusions are 
exposed by the light of superior wisdom.” ‘This person is generally 
young and often a schoolmaster. In Macrobius the part is played 
by Evangelus, in whose name some have found a reference to the 
Gospel—quite unnecessarily. Evangelus is fully as unconscious of 
Christianity as the rest, and indeed displays some recondite acquain- 
tance with pagan ritual in his attempt to reply to Praetextatus’ 
praise of Virgil. But he is not merely the holder of shocking and 
even impossible opinions about Virgil, for his manners are monstrous, 
About the others there is a prodigious politeness quite in the style 
of Symmachus’ letters. He is frankly rude, even to the point of 
brutality. The repugnance, involuntarily displayed by the guests 
when he enters, warns the reader what to expect. And, most curious 
of all, he too seems to be a real person, to whom Symmachus in one 
of his letters attributes an incautus animus’. 


1 Essays, i, p. 238. 

2 Ep. vi. 7. This quality is getting Evangelus into danger in his wild 
attempt, despite the roads, to attend Honorius’ fourth installation as consul. 
Is he or another the homo non amicus there mentioned? 


176 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


The scene of the dialogue is the feast of the Saturnalia, and the 
guests meet in succession during the three days at the houses of 
Praetextatus, Flavian and Symmachus. The conversations, or 
dissertations, range over literature (which is summed up in Virgil), 
science, manners, morals and religion. Without attempting to keep 
to the order of proceedings, we may deal with the book as a whole 
with reference to these points. 

The work may be regarded as a sort of Jnstitutio of the Roman 
gentleman—a presentment of what he should be and what he should 
know. Yet it is surprising how little is said or thought of Rome, of 
political life, or duty to State and Empire, or even of the significance 
of Rome. It is away from such things that attention is directed— 
they were not safe subjects perhaps for Roman society. Praetextatus 
is represented (i. 7, 5) as disturbed at the suggestion that they were 
discussing anything the world might not hear. The complete 
gentleman is to live rather in the past than the present, and he is 
not to take part in public life’. It may of course be said that 
after all literature and not statecraft was Macrobius’ theme, but 
with all the ebb and flow of the conversation it never touches 
matters of public concern. Some slight reference is made in the 
commentary on Scipio’s dream to a life of action in the public 
interest, but that is involved by the text and but lightly treated. In 
Symmachus’ letters, in like manner, politics are avoided. In fact 
they were dangerous. 

The complete gentleman’s education is developed along two 
lines—antiquarianism and Neo-Platonism, generally with Virgil as 
a text-book. The whole is slavish and mechanical. “The fruit of 
reading is to emulate what you find good in others, and by dexterous 
borrowing to turn to your own use what you most admire in other 
people’s utterances” (vi. 1, 2). What did this mean in literature? 
An extraordinary devotion to the superficial, phrase-hunting, 
grammatical and lexicographical pedantry of the most unfruitful 
type. One of the earliest discussions turns on the expressions 
noctu futura and die crastini (i. 4). When one of the 
party makes a stand for modern speech and old manners, his 
utterance is from Gellius, and where the unacknowledged quotation 
ends, in comes another archaism, which has likewise to be discussed 
(mille verborum est, i. 5, 3). 


1 Not so Synesius, though a Neo-Platonist too. See his spirited letter to his 
brother (Ep. 107) on his duty to fight the barbarian invaders at the risk of 
incurring the Government’s displeasure. 


Macrobius 177 


From this it is but a step to etymology, and if ever and again 
we are amazed, we must remember that we are not ourselves so 
very long emancipated from the Philology that is not comparative. 
Nigidius is twice quoted on the letter D. Janus and Diana are the 
same, we are told, “with the addition of D which is often added to 
the letter I by way of adorning it (causa decoris) as in reditur 
redhibetur etc.” (i. 8.8). Bidentes means sheep two years old, repre- 
senting bidennes, D being superfluously introduced to avoid hiatus, 
as in redamare, redire ete. (vi. 9. 6). April is from Aphrilis, from 
the Greek ἀφρός, with a reference by Romulus to the mother of 
Aeneas (i. 12. 8). The Ides are so called because we see the full 
moon (videre, compare the Greek ἰδεῖν, 1, 15, 16). Artemis cuts 
the air and is properly Aerotemis (i. 15, 20), an old derivation 
quoted by Clement of Alexandria (668 P)’. 

Meantime what of literature, that we may vindicate the name 
from grammarians? With his treatment of Virgil I shall deal later. 
For the rest, the ordinary student need only turn to van Jan’s 
index or Eyssenhardt’s (which I think is the same, abridged to the 
reader’s loss) to find himself in a new world, and, amid a multitude 
of obscure names which he does not know, he looks in wonder for 
those he does. Apart from Virgil and Cicero, where are the other 
familiar names? Where are Livy, Ovid, Tibullus, Propertius? They 
are not mentioned. Catullus and Horace have two references each. 
Of the “silver age,” Silius, Statius, Valerius Flaccus and Tacitus do 
not occur; Persius only once, Juvenal three times, and Lucan once 
(to correct him). Hosts of forgotten grammarians and teachers are 
found but not Quintilian. Professor Nettleship explains this*. In 
the second century and onward interest in the Latin schools was 
lost for all literature after Virgil’s day, and diverted to the prae- 
Augustan writers, and Macrobius is heir to this conservative or 
reactionary feeling. Ausonius has a pleasant little poem addressed 
to one of his professors, whose bent was in this direction. Victorius 
was assiduous in forgotten books and never read anything but what 
was obscure ; worm-eaten, ancient parchments, prehistoric pontifical 
lore, anything and everything rather than Tully or Virgil®, For 


1 Etymology broke out in the epics of the day. Nonnus in his Dionysiaca, 
the longest of all Greek epics, explains that the Nile is so called from the new 
mud it brought with it (νέα ἰλύς, 111. 275); he derives Dionysus from Zeus and 
νῦσος ὅτι γλώσσῃ Συρακοσσίδι χωλὸς ἀκούει (ix. 20). Porphyry also uses etymology 
to elicit hidden truths from most unlikely quarters. 

2 Essays, i. p. 284 f. (on Nonius Marcellus). 

3 Professores 22. 


6. 12 


178 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Macrobius however all centres in Virgil. There is no attempt to 
appreciate or even to explain the other authors. They with Homer 
merely serve to illustrate Virgil. This word is from one author, 
that passage is copied from another. 

The reader is surprised to find in the last book a good deal of 
what, for want of a better word, we may call science. It is certainly 
not systematic. Various guests propound to Disarius the physician 
questions prompted by their own fancy or some casual experience. 
In reality most of them come straight from Plutarch, who is of 
course not named. Is a simple or a varied diet better for the 
digestion? Disarius is for the former with a special caution against 
“mixing drinks” (vii. 4, 7), while Eustathius stands up stoutly for 
the latter. Why do women rarely get drunk and old men easily‘? 
Is it because women’s systems are moister or because they are 
warmer? Why do you become giddy if you spin round? Why is 
honey best when fresh and wine when old? Why is the ring worn 
on the finger next the little finger of the left hand? Egyptian 
anatomists say a sinew comes direct there from the heart (vii. 13, 8), 
but Ateius Capito, following the Etruscans, says the left hand is less 
used, and the particular finger neither too large nor too small, so 
the jewel is safer there than elsewhere. Why does game decay 
more quickly in moonlight than sunlight, and why does a brass 
knife stuck in it stop decay?? The answers to these and similar 
questions are astounding, but they come largely from Plutarch, and 
the scientists of the dialogue have a confidence about them, which 
reminds the modern reader of his own day. 

There is a long discourse on the Roman calendar, but that was 
rather an antiquarian than a scientific subject, so Macrobius handles 
it fully and freely. He seems to have been much interested in 
Astronomy, of which we have a good deal in the Commentary, and 
here he is as clear and lucid as (apart from Physiology) he generally 
is. His system was that of his day and he really appears to have 
understood the subject, and what he has to say he sets forth easily 
and ably. 

Macrobius and sometimes the guests lay down rules of manners, 


1 Petit, op. cit. 6. ix. p. 98, mentions that this discussion was copied out by 
Abelard for Heloise. Macrobius took it from Plutarch (Convivial Questions, 
iii. 3), who implies that the question was asked by Aristotle but not answered. 
A splendid history for a triviality. 

51 am told that the first part of this is a fact in dry hot Southern climates, 
but probably not in Italy nor in Greece. Hence it may be asked whence 
Plutarch got it. For the brass knife I have found no advocate. 


Macrobius 179 


which after all have a more permanent value than much of their 
science. ‘‘Conversation at a banquet should be as pure in its 
moral tone as attractive by its charm” (i. 1, 4). The narrator is 
particular to emphasize that this is not a record “of meat and drink, 
though they too were there in abundance and propriety” (i. 2, 12). 
This point is repeated. Society has so far advanced that when it 
reads the old sumptuary laws of the republic it does not know what 
dish is meant by this or that term (iii. 17, 12), and is lost in 
astonishment at “the slavish gluttony of that age” (iii 16, 11). 
“Peacocks’ eggs, which used to sell at five denarii apiece, I will not 
say they are sold cheaper to-day, they are not on the market at all” 
(iii. 13, 2). 

“Those centuries, which by their blood or their sweat won the 
Empire,” had no doubt their virtues, but their vices shock their 
posterity. ‘limes have improved—at whose banquet do you find 
dancer or dancing-girl? Yet in those evil days sons of senators 
and noble ladies danced and used castanets, and Macrobius cites 
his authorities, and the unfortunate Sallust has his usual rebuke— 
“a weighty critic and censor of other people’s luxury” (iii. 13, 9)’. 

After all this, the “jokes” of book ii. strike the reader oddly. 
“When moderation had put an end to the reasonable succession of 
dishes (castimoniam ferculorwm) and convivial mirth sprang up from 
the tiny cups,” Symmachus proposed “humour without impro- 
priety” (alacritatem lascivia carentem). They are in turn to 
produce the best jokes of famous men which they have found in 
their reading—“a lettered lightness and learned quips.” His own 
first contribution and some of the others would certainly be relegated 
to the smoke-room to-day. We have, after a series of miscellaneous 
jokes, collections of witticisms of Cicero, Augustus and Julia—an 
odd mixture of indecency and the handbook. 

In the seventh book, however, the whole subject of tact at table 
is discussed on the lines of Plutarch, who is closely followed*®. The 
first thing is to know your company, and then draw them out. 
Men like to talk of themselves, but not wishing to seem vain prefer 
to be asked to speak of their brilliant deeds in battle, their travels 
in unknown lands, their afflictions m days gone by, “how they 


1 Against Macrobius the hostile critic will be able to cite Ammianus and 
Jerome, while Claudian will furnish instances of enormous and tasteless 
expenditure. 

2 Quaest. Conviv. ii. 1. It is interesting to note Macrobius’ insertion of an 
apposite line from Virgil (forsan et haec olim meminisse jwvabit) after Plutarch’s 
quotation from Euripides (ws ἡδύ τοι σωθέντα μεμνῆσθαι πόνων). 


12—2 


180 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


successfully discharged the embassy, how they were presented to 
the Emperor and most courteously received, and how, when the whole 
fleet was boarded by pirates’, they alone by their cunning or their 
valour escaped” (vii. 2,11). Never ask a man a question before 
people, unless you know he can answer it and answer it well, for 
men do not like to confess ignorance (7b. 5). But ask the hunter 
about hunting, and if a religious person (religiosus) is there, let him 
have a chance to tell “by what observances he has won help from 
the gods, what results his ceremonies brought him, for they count 
it a religious duty not to be silent about the benefits the gods give 
them, beside liking to be thought favourites of heaven” (vii. 2, 13). 
The reason given is Macrobius’ own and suggests that his feeling 
is not quite the same as Plutarch’s, but if commentary is needed, 
the inscriptions on the monument of Praetextatus and his wife 
suffice’. 

One must be careful, we learn, in badinage not to hit too hard 
and to beware of sore subjects. On minor misfortunes—such as 
baldness or a head shaped like Socrates-—a man may be quizzed, 
but not on such grave ones as the loss of an eye. The man who 
jokes must not even in play charge a man with vices he has. That 
is “bad form,” but it will not be amiss to tax a man of stainless 
character with his immoralities, or to remind a wealthy man of his 
creditors. Above all the company and time and place must be 
considered. One may safely make game of a man in his wife’s 
presence for being uxorious, but some jokes one had better reserve. 

As a model of bad manners Evangelus is exhibited. He inter- 
rupts conversation recklessly, and contradicts grave and learned 
gentlemen who reply with a smile which should serve as a correction 
but does not. He sneers at slaves and calls for wine and plenty of 
it (indulgere, flagrare vino ii. 8, 4). He insults the Greek guests 
on the score of their race, their national loquacity and love of 
display (vii. 5, 1 and 16, 1). Contrasted with his conduct is the 
uniform suavity and graciousness of the other guests toward him— 
a silent lesson to Eustachius. 

‘Morals and religion are touched on here and there. Evangelus’ 
ridicule of the idea that the gods could stoop to care for slaves calls 
forth from Praetextatus a speech in the slaves’ behalf. He pleads 
in eloquent language (borrowed from Seneca, Hp, 47) their common 


1 Apart from the novels, which swarm with pirates, and one simile in 
Claudian, I do not remember any other reference to them in the works of this 
period, and these pirates are borrowed from Plutarch (Qu. Conviv. ii. 1, 3). 

? See essay on Symmachus, pp. 163, 164. 


Macrobius 181 


humanity, their possible freedom and greatness of mind, their faith- 
fulness and goodness; and supports his statements with historical 
illustrations (from Gellius and elsewhere)’. Praetextatus also gives 
a long discourse on the gods, shewing in turn how Apollo, Bacchus, 
Mars, Mercury, Hercules, Serapis, Osiris, Pan, Saturn, Jove, the 
Assyrian Adad and others are all equivalents of the Sun and of one 
another. ‘This was one part of the faith of later Paganism?. More 
is said about it in the Commentary. It may be noted however 
that in both works Macrobius writes rather from the point of view 
of philosophy than of devotion. He has not the moral enthusiasm 
of Plutarch, the fervent pietism of Julian or the mysticism of Hermes 
Trismegistus. ‘T'here is the chill of the pedagogue about him. ‘he 
equations of heaven are interesting to him and so are the rites of 
old Rome. ΤῸ judge from his treatment of the old religion, the 
new was quite beyond his comprehension. 

Almost all that a man needs to know he will find, according to 
Macrobius, in Virgil—explicitly or by implication. his brings us 
to a consideration of his work as a critic of Virgil—work for which 
he is in large measure disqualified by his want of discrimination— 
by what Gibbon calls “the blind superstition of a commentator*.” 
Like many before him and many more after his day, he found in 
Virgil a pedant, an encyclopaedist. Virgil knew all learning (i. 16, 
12), never went wrong (Comm. ii. 8, 1), was a master in priestly 
lore (S. i. 24, 16) and delighted to introduce it into his poetry along 
with astronomy, philosophy, and all sorts of gleanings from Greek 
and Latin literature and oratory. lt is Virgil’s learning that appeals 
to him rather than his poetry, and while there is much truth in 
what he says of Virgil’s felicity in using his knowledge of antiquity 
and literature, it is absurd to make it, as he does, Virgil’s chief 
claim to distinction. Still he does not stand alone in this; he is 
following a tradition. ‘The excessive attention given to rhetoric in 
the schools had so far perverted Roman taste that perfection of 
language linked to wide information was all that was asked of a 
poet. It is enough to read a book of Lucan to see this. How 


1 The equality before God of slave and freeman was a Neo-Platonic doctrine. 
Synesius says (Dreams, 6. 8, 1301 Ὁ) it matters nothing to God, which is the 
Eteobutades and which the new-bought drudge Manes. Cf. his relations with 
his own slaves (Hp. 145) who are treated as equals and love him as an elected 
chief. : 

2 So Gasquet in his interesting essay on Mithras (Revue des deux Mondes, 
1st April, 1899), calls Macrobius ‘‘le théoricien par excellence du syncrétisme 
paien. Ses Saturnales en sont le manifeste.” 

3 Gibbon, ch. xxxii. ἢ. 3. 


. 


182 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


many Roman poets find their highest eulogy in the word doctus? 
To prove Virgil doctus, grammarians had for centuries busied them- 
selves with the letter till they had forgotten the spirit. The 
popularity of Statius, says Comparetti', proved the want of real 
poetic feeling in Rome ; and in the three centuries between Statius 
and Macrobius there had been nothing to quicken it. Here as else- 
where Macrobius held he was best serving the present by echoing 
the past’. 

Of course Virgil is compared with Homer, but the criticism hardly 
rises so high as Dryden’s contrast of ‘‘ majesty” and “loftiness of 
thought.” It is rather that Virgil, carried away, and sometimes 
too far, by a desire to emulate Homer, imitates this, that and the 
other passage or line; and here he is superior, there equal and in a 
third place inferior to his model. It is very systematically done, 
for the Aeneid is taken book by book, and the parallels are pointed 
out. There are no doubt flashes of light here and there, and good 
points are brought out*, but in the end the reader is not a whit 
nearer a general judgment on the work of the two poets. 

Virgil’s knowledge of pontifical law is illustrated by the citation 
of passages containing priestly word and phrase used in their just 
and proper senses. Here Evangelus protests and cites instances to 
prove Virgil was not universally careful in these matters. The 
attempt is made to rebut the charge, but, though there is an un- 
happy break in the mss, one has the impression that Virgil’s 
advocate is dealing with him as old-fashioned apologists did with 
the Old Testament. The answers are too subtle, too clever. For 
example, Evangelus quotes Aeneid iii. 21 


caelicolum regi mactabam in litore taurum, 


and cites Ateius Capito to shew that a bull is not sacrificed to Jove. 
“Quite so,” rejoins Praetextatus, “Virgil in view of the horror to 
follow (the blood of Polydore) introduced the bull—a blunder, which 
according to Ateius is expiable, and which is here deliberately 
committed to lead up to the marvel”’ (iii. 10, 3—7). 


1 Τ may generally refer the reader to the first five chapters of Comparetti’s 
most interesting book on Vergil in the Middle Ages. Part τι. c. 1 may be 
consulted for the medieval view of Virgil as an outcome of that held by 
Macrobius and his school. 

2 Perhaps he was, when men ranked Ausonius as equal to Virgil. How is it 
that both Macrobius and Symmachus ignore Claudian? 

3 He remarks, e.g. (v. 16, 8) that Fortuna or Τύχη is a power unknown to 
Homer. (See Rohde, der Griechische Roman, § ii. 4, p. 276, on the progress of 
this ‘‘junge Géttin.”) Macrobius following the ‘ philosophers” takes a diametri- 
cally opposite view of her to that of Quintus, 


Macrobius 183 


An illustration may serve to shew his method of displaying 
Virgil’s correctness. He twice quotes with the same explanation 
the line 


interea magnum sol circunwolvitur annum 


(Aen. iti. 284; Sat. i. 14, 5; Comm. ii. 11, 6). It refers to the 
period of Aeneas’ wanderings and his arrival at Actium. Conington 
finds in magnum an ornamental epithet ; Wakefield (cited by him) 
a reference to the feeling of an exile, which I think not unlikely in 
view of Virgil’s constant recurrence to thoughts of exile. Macrobius 
explains annus as a revolution, brevis annus being that of the moon, 
i.e. a month, magnus annus that of the sun, ze. so many lunar 
months plus some days. Thus magnus has no reference to Aeneas’ 
exile, but is a technical term of Astronomy. 

He prefers the Catalogue in the second book of the Iliad to 
Virgil’s in the seventh Aeneid, because it is systematic, while 
Virgil forgets the map and mentions places as they occur to him, 
introducing elaborately warriors who never appear again, and for- 
getting others whose names should be there (v. 15, 16). Thus 
what is to modern readers the charm of the passage, Virgil’s 
_ affectionate and intimate knowledge of Italy displayed as he lingers 
over this place and that, each with its memories of ancient glories 
of his people, of happy days he himself has known amid streams 
and woods and vineyards—all this goes for nothing ; his geography 
is poor. 

So much for Italy, and what of Rome? 


Romanos rerum dominos gentemque togatum— 


What has he to say about such a line? “Virgil appropriately used 
the epithet gens togata for the Romans, for Laberius used it in his 
Ephebus: togatae stirpis; and lower down dilatatum est dominium 
togatae gentis.” He is not concerned to speak of Virgil’s conception 
of Rome giving’ peace and order to the world. He reads his poet 
carefully and comments on a thousand passages, but the great 
fundamental thought that fills and animates the work—tantae molis 
erat Romanam condere gentem—utterly escapes him. It was not 
so with all Virgil’s readers of the day. ‘This thought is caught by 
_Prudentius and Claudian, and each in his own way developes it, 
but these men were poets and Macrobius was a commentator. The 
scribe is tithing mint and anise and cummin, and the greater matters 
of the law escape him. 

Again, the Aeneid has been called the epic of human life, 


184 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


More than in any Roman poet or indeed any poet of antiquity we 
find in Virgil the sense of human limitations—‘“the pain of finite 
hearts that yearn”—coupled with admiration for those who do their 
proper work faithfully and manfully. Tennyson gives the truth of 
the matter in his description of Virgil :— 

“Thou majestic in thy sadness at the doubtful doom of human kind.” 


Macrobius, in illustrating Virgil’s faithfulness to the canons of 
rhetoric, picks out a series of passages to illustrate pathos, as he 
does with the other emotions’. This is easy to do, but one might 
almost say he is more conscious of the successful artifice than of the 
depth of feeling. He judges the expression more as a telling appeal 
addressed to an audience than as a poet’s interpretation of human 
life. The exquisite language charms him, but he is not greatly 
moved by the sorrow and the love which animate it. 

It may be doubted whether Macrobius really appreciated Virgil 
as Augustine did. Thus Macrobius writes: “Virgil so far improved 
on his model [Apollonius] (elegantius auctore), that the story of the 
wantoning Dido, which everybody knows to be false, has passed for 
true through all these centuries, and it is still popularly accounted 
true, so that painters and sculptors and workers in embroidery employ 
this theme as if there were no other. So greatly has the beauty of 
the telling prevailed that all men, knowing as they do the chastity of 
the Phoenician queen and well aware that she laid hands on herself 
to save her fair fame’, yet let the story pass and prefer to suppress 
the truth, and allow that to be believed which the sweetness of the 
poet has implanted in people’s breasts” (pectoribus humanis dulcedo 
Jingentis infudit, Sat. v. 17, 5—6). St Augustine is not writing 
about Virgil—heaven forbid!—but he remembers his introduction 
to him. How he had hated the jingle of the school—“ Two and two 
make four”; and how he had loved the literature the grammarian 
taught him—the tale of the wooden horse, the burning of Troy and 
ipsius umbra Creusae! (Conf. i. 18, 22 and 20). And he had 
“wept for Dido dead, because she slew herself for love, though 
meanwhile I saw myself in all this dying away from Thee, Ὁ God 
my life, and my eyes were dry—unhappy man! What could be 
more pitiable than an unhappy man not pitying himself, and 
weeping Dido’s death which came of loving Aeneas, but not weeping 

1 See Comparetti, op. cit. p. 69: ‘‘ While the rhetoricians in forming their 
laws had quoted Virgil as their chief authority, Macrobius now praises Virgil for 
having observed the laws of rhetoric.” 


2 Cf. Aug. Conf. i. 13, 22, and Ausonius’ epigram from the Greek, Anth, 
Plan, iv. 151. 


Macrobius 185 


his own death which came of not loving Thee, Ὁ God?” (Conf. 
i. 18, 21). Both men know the tale is untrue, and one asks Why 
did I weep? the other, Why is it such a favourite with artists? 

On the other hand, though Macrobius lacks the highest gifts of 
insight and inspiration, his work must be pronounced useful and 
interesting. On the lower plane which is more to his mind he has 
done good service in diligently collecting and gracefully presenting 
much valuable matter in illustration of Virgil. He shews us at 
once the tastes of the cultivated society of his day and the traditions 
of the best scholarship of the Empire. The weapons of the stone 
age are not perhaps very serviceable to-day but they have their 
importance, and so in other things a man, who will, even at the cost 
of the expression of himself, let us see vividly and clearly some 
former stage in the history of culture, is doing us good service. 
The faults we find in his work are largely those of his day and of 
his profession. If we to-day judge the grammarian almost as hardly 
as he judged the Jitteratores, those schoolmasters who won the 
scholar’s contempt by trying to pass off their ignorance as omni- 
science ; if even the higher work of the better teachers as shewn by 
Macrobius and Ausonius seems to us wanting in soul and feeling, 
we must remember Augustine’s gratitude to the grammaticus who 
taught him Virgil. No doubt the great man thanks his teacher 
for much which he owes to himself, still there must have been 
quickening elements in the teaching. Augustine was surely not the 
only student, who wept for Dido, who was stirred to higher life and 
thought by such books as the Hortensius. We shall see that 
Macrobius in his own way believed in the things that are more 
excellent. 

He had not Augustine’s endowment,—his interest in everything, 
his delicate sensibility to impressions, his feeling and imagination, 
his passionate and emotional temperament, any more than his 
strength of mind, his spiritual nature and his determination to reach 
reality. Yet Macrobius was a man of feeling too, a good and 
affectionate father, as we can see from his address to Eustachius, 
and a conscientious teacher. ‘There is, he says, no claim so great 
as a child’s upon a parent, and no pleasure or pain so keen as the 
parent’s according as he sees his labour of love for his child prosper 
or fail (Sat. i. 1,1). He has read and studied for his son, and 
“all that I have” of history, literature, Greek and Latin, “is thine.” 
We can read his feelings on friendship in the pictures he draws of 
the friends gathered at the Saturnalia. He has that mixture of 


186 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


amiability and a limitless readiness to take pains for those with 
whom he has been brought in contact, with the want of sympathy 
and even contempt for the unenlightened, the “outsider,” which is 
too apt to be found in the professional teacher in every age. 

ΤῸ Macrobius’ Commentary we owe the preservation of Cicero’s 
Dream of Scipio, a part of the work De Republica. It is in some 
degree analogous to Plato’s story of Er the Armenian. Scipio sees 
in a dream his father Paulus and his (adoptive) grandfather Scipio 
Africanus. He finds himself with them in the Milky Way, looking 
down upon the earth, which he thence realizes to be but a tiny portion 
of space, and the Roman part of it still more insignificant. The 
sense of infinite time is brought home to him, and he is asked, 
What is earthly glory’? A thing of narrow range and short duration. 
What then is man’s work and end? ‘The soul is divine and eternal, 
and his soul is the man—mens cujusque is est quisque. A good 
man’s soul ascends from the prison house and chains of the body 
to the galaxy there to enjoy eternal life, but he must not hasten his 
departure, nor, without leave of him who assigned the station and 
the duty, abandon them. The soul must contemplate what is 
without and, while not cutting its connexion, must withdraw itself 
from the body in meditation. The best work a man can undertake 
is the welfare of his country. “That you may be the keener to 
guard the state, Africanus, know this: that for all who have saved, 
helped or increased their country, there is a fixed and definite place 
in heaven, where in happiness they may enjoy eternal life. For to 
that supreme God who rules the universe, there is nothing of all 
that is on earth more grateful than those gatherings and ordered 
societies of men (coetus hominum jure sociati) which are called states. 
Their rulers and saviours proceed hence and return again hither” 
(Somnium 8, 1). 

This work Macrobius took as his text, and as sometimes happens 
the commentary is out of all proportion. It is here sixteen or 
seventeen times the length of the text. It is heavily weighted with 
digressions on every conceivable excuse. Without them it would be 
a better proportioned book, but certainly less interesting. So many 
subjects are handled and with such fulness of detail that the work 
has a substantive value of its own as a repository of popularized 

1 This line of reflexion recurs in Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy, ii. 7, 
in a passage recalling Cicero’s story; and in a very different work, the Life of 
Antony, cc. 16, 17, it may be found again, pointing another moral—ascetic 


monachism, which is perhaps only an alternative route to the same goal in 
eternal life. 


Macrobius 187 


Neo-Platonism. As such indeed it had considerable use in the 
Middle Ages*. Myths (dealt with by Julian in his seventh Oration), 
dreams (the subject of a work of Synesius), numbers and their 
spiritual significances, the Milky Way, the horizon, eclipses, the 
moon, the motions of the celestial spheres, the stars, the origin of 
their names and the possibilities of their influencing or predicting 
the course of human life (a subject that much interested Augustine 
in his Platonist days)’, the sizes of the sun and of the earth, and 
their distance from each other, the mapping of the Zodiac, the 
distribution of matter, the music of the spheres with incidental 
reference to the influence of music generally, the zones of the world 
and the antipodes, tides and their origin—all these themes are 
treated at length by Macrobius on pretexts arising from Cicero’s 
little story. ‘Truly therefore we must pronounce that there is 
nothing more complete than this work, in which is comprised the 
whole range of philosophy” (wniversa philosophiae integritas, Comm. 
ii. 17,17). In plain terms he is treating Cicero here as he did 
Virgil, though the Dream really does give him openings more strictly 
legitimate for the propagation of knowledge, which is usually bor- 
rowed but not always accurate’. 

I shall not follow him into his digressions, nor give in detail 
his discussions even of more vital matters, but I shall endeavour to 
sketch in outline the general results of his philosophy or, to give it 
the name it better deserves at this period of heathenism, his theology. 
Though a good deal of it is present in germ in Cicero, taken of 


1 St Thomas Aquinas cites it as his authority on Neo-Platonic teaching 
about the primum ens, and Abelard often refers to Macrobius—‘‘no mean 
philosopher ”—finding, e.g. an exposition of the Trinity in his God, νοῦς and 
anima. See Petit, op. cit. c. ix. and pp. 72, 79. Interest in Macrobius declined 
with the revival of the study of Greek, as befel with another Neo-Platonist, an 

even greater favourite in the Middle Ages, Boethius. 
- _ ? Maerobius (C. i. 19, 20—27) seems to incline to the view of Plotinus (to 
whom he refers, πη. ii. 3) that the stars like birds enable us to foresee, but do 
not themselves affect, our future. So Ammianus (xx. 1, 9) expounds augury, 
finding its ultimate cause in benignitas numinis and the divine interest in man. 
Porphyry (de Abstinentia iii. 5) says the gods if silent yet give warnings, which 
birds understand more quickly than men and then tell us as well as they can. 
“All things ” says Synesius (Dreams, c. 2, 1285 p) ‘‘prophesy through all, since 
all are kin, that are in the one living creature, the universe.’”’ There are 
responses as between the chords of a lyre, and so conversely men can influence 
the gods by certain means, i.e. magic—a view Synesius later on renounced, as 
Augustine did all astrology (Conf. vii. 6, 8 and C. ἢ. vy. 1 f.). How great a feat 
it was to do this is shewn by Ammianus (xxviii. 4, 24)—‘‘Many in Rome, who 
deny that there are higher powers in heaven, will not go out of doors, nor dine, 
nor indeed think it quite safe even to bathe, until they have carefully consulted 
an almanack and learnt where e.g. Mercury is, etc.” 

3 The reader may be referred to Petit, c. v. 


188 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


course from Greek thinkers, its development is Neo-Platonic, and it 
constantly points to its origin in the general teaching of Plotinus 
and his school’. 

How far Neo-Platonism by process of borrowing or of original 
reflexion reached its degree of likeness to Oriental modes of thought, 
this is hardly the place to discuss. But one thing at least in the 
Commentary stands out in marked contrast with the text. ‘The 
heaven of which Cicero speaks is pre-eminently for patriots, servants 
of their country, for men of action in virtue of their life of political 
well-doing ; with Macrobius the influence of Neo-Platonism is so 
strong that, though such men have a share in his heaven, they 
hardly enter it and in spite of their taking part in public life. It is 
no longer a help, it is a hindrance. We find this in other Neo- 
Platonists*, The hymns of Synesius, which are really prayers, ask 
for nothing so much as for freedom from anxieties and disturbing 
cares. When pressure is put upon him to become a bishop, his 
great dread is that this will drag him into the world, into affairs, 
and lessen and destroy the leisure and calm of mind essential to his 
spiritual life. It is playing with his own soul for other people’s 
political and social necessities. He made the sacrifice, however, like 
the Spartan he was (Zp. 118). 

The object of Macrobius’ Commentary is to reinforce the 
doctrine of Plato and Cicero that there is a life beyond the grave— 
a doctrine in which he finds the very foundations of all morality 
and of society itself. The story of Scipio’s Dream, like the myth 
of Er, is ridiculed, he knows, by the Epicureans, a flippant, loud- 
voiced and perverse school ; but none the less it has “inexpugnable 
reason” behind it. Less emphasized perhaps but not less real is 
his aim to maintain the sufficiency of Neo-Platonism against 
Christianity as well as against Epicureanism, both being hated by his 
party®. 

In outline Macrobius’ system is as follows. The universe is one 
vast whole, to be regarded in some sort as a temple (C. i. 14, 2) and 

1 Petit c. vi. discusses Macrobius’ philosophy, finding that here, as in 
literary criticism, his work is second-hand. He gives other men’s results as 
dogmata, without much insight of his own. It should be remembered that he 
is quite open about his dependence on ‘‘right thinkers,” ‘‘Platonists,” Plotinus, 
etc.; e.g. especially C. ii. 15,2. “1 do not forget myself so far, nor am I so ill 
inspired as of my own ability either to oppose Aristotle or defend Plato.” 

? Porphyry, de Abstin. i. 27, says he writes not for artisans, nor athletes, 
ies ΤῊΝ nor sailors, nor rhetoricians, nor τοῖς τὸν πραγματικὸν βίον ἐπανελο- 


3 Cf. Lucian’s Alexander 25 and 38, an interesting anticipation of Julian’s 
twin hatreds. 


Macrobius 189 


eternal (C. ii. 10, 9). God is the first and the origin of all things 
that are. By reason of the superabundant fertility of his majesty 
he created Mind (mens or νοῦς) from himself. From Mind came 
Soul (anima); thence bodies, stars animated by divine intelligences, 
and earthly bodies, human, animal and vegetable. Thus from the 
supreme god down to the lowest dregs of the universe (ad ultimam 
rerum faecem) runs a connexion, holding itself together by mutual 
links and never broken. This is Homer’s golden chain, which he 
says God bade hang from heaven to earth. There is a real kinship 
between man and the stars’ (Οἱ i. 14, §§ 6, 7, and 15). The aim of 
his work is to shew that man is not only immortal but is god, the 
real man not being what is seen, but that by which the seen is ruled, 
his soul or anima in fact (C. ii. 12, 5 and 9). 

Souls before they are ensnared by the desire for a body (necdum 
desiderio corporis irretitae) dwell in the starry region of the universe 
and thence sink down into bodies (C. i. 9, 10). I am not sure 
whether this is to be lamented or not. By Synesius and to some 
extent by Macrobius it is implied that this fall is not a happy thing 
altogether. Yet nature to continue animal life has put such love 
of the body into the soul that it loves its fetter and dislikes to leave 
it (C. ii. 16, 19). It is however in reality a fall*, a death of the 
soul (C. i. 10, 17: 11, 1), but after all a temporary death (ad tempus 
obruitur, Οὐ, i. 12, 17)*. Much has been said by the ancients and 
many poetical descriptions put forth about things below, in/fera, hell 
or the grave. The body is the infera of the soul, σῶμα a body and 
σῆμα a tomb meaning much the same thing (C- i. 10, 9 ff. and 11, 3). 
There is yet another sense for infera as we shall see. 

So the soul passes through the Tropics as through gates into 
this world (C. i. 12, 1—2), losing as it goes some of its memory of 
things above‘, “for if souls bore down into their bodies the memory 


1 Thus Synesius (Zp. 100) playfully says he thinks the stars must look down 
on him with kindly feelings as the only man in Cyrene who contemplates them 
with understanding. In Hymn i. 80—100, he sets the same doctrine forth in 
poetry of some beauty. 

2 Porphyry (ad Marcellam 5) calls it a fall, τὸ eis τὴν γένεσιν πτῶμα ὅσον καὶ 
οἷον ἡμῖν τῆς ψυχῆς περιέστη, though the gods do not forget us but are σωτῆρες. 
Naville (Saint-Augustin, p. 92) warns us that the analogy between this πτῶμα 
and Augustine’s fall of man is much more apparent than real. The Neo- 
Platonist does not or should not attach the idea”ef sin to it. 

8 So Porphyry, de Antro Nympharum 10, cites Heraclitus, ζῆν ἡμᾶς τὸν ἐκείνων 
(se. ψυχῶν) θάνατον καὶ ζῆν ἐκείνας τὸν ἡμέτερον θάνατον. Plotinus, Enn. iv. 83 
7 (sc. Ψυχῃ) καὶ δέσμος τὸ σῶμα καὶ τάφος. 

4 So Synesius (Dreams, 1296 8) teaches that the soul is led to choose slavery 
by the gifts of matter (cf. ὕλα με μάγοις ἐπέδησε τέχναις, Hymn. 3, 574), as if 
contracting to be a slave for a term, and on entering bodily life it has to quaff a 


190 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


of the divine matters of which they were conscious in heaven, there 
would be no difference of opinion among men about these things, 
but all drink oblivion in their descent, some in a greater and others 
in a less measure”: (C. i. 12, 9). The soul then finds itself below, 
with some memory of heavenly things and a strong love of the body, 
and as it is ruled by the one or the other it rises or falls (( i. 11, 11). 
Contempt for the world and a heavenward aspiration help it upward. 
Those alone are happy who live in the contemplation of things above 
(superna) and diligently seek after them and as far as may be imitate 
them’ (C. i. 8,3). Those who can escape public affairs, and purging 
themselves of the contagion of the body strive by flight from human 
things* to find their place among divine, have really advanced 
(Ο i. 8, 8). For these may die to the world—“we use the word 
dying too, when the soul still domiciled in the body is taught by 
philosophy and spurns the allurements of the body and rids itself 
of the pleasant treachery of desires and all other passions*” (C- i. 
13, 6). In such cases “conversation in heaven” may be reached, 
“for souls, who in this life free themselves from the fetters of the 
body by the death philosophy teaches, may, though the body yet 
lives, take their place (inserantur) in heaven and among the stars” 
(C. 1. 13, 10)*. The universe is a temple of god; all the visible is 
his temple who is conceived by mind alone; to him as its founder 


cup of Lethe. Pleasure (Dio, 1129 8) is the brooch (περόνη) that binds soul to 
body by divine arrangement. Cf. Porphyry, de Antr. Nymph. 16 δι’ ἡδονῆς 
δεσμεῖσθαι καὶ κατάγεσθαι τὰ θεῖα εἰς γένεσιν... 22 δύο οὖν ταύτας ἔθεντο πύλας 
καρκίνον καὶ αἴγοκέρων οἱ θεολόγοι...τούτων δὲ καρκίνον μὲν εἶναι δι᾽ οὗ κατίασιν αἱ 
ψυχαί, αἴγοκέρων δὲ δι᾽ οὗ ἀνίασιν. 

1 Synesius (Ep. 139) cites with approval this teaching of Plotinus, phrasing 
it thus:—rd ἐν σαυτῷ θεῖον ἄναγε ἐπὶ τὸ πρωτόγονον θεῖον. So far do they go that 
Synesius (Zp. 137) maintains that right living, ὀρθῶς βιοῦν, is useful merely as a 
prelude to wisdom, προοίμιον τοῦ φρονεῖν. 

? Cf. Plotinus, Enn.i.6,8; Porphyry, ad Mare. 10 τῇ μελετώσῃ (i.e. Marcella) 
φεύγειν ἀπὸ τοῦ σώματος. 

8. Porphyry, ad Mare. 7, on rising superior to pleasures. Cc. 12 ff. present 
a far loftier picture of right living than anything Macrobius says on the subject. 

4 He uses a phrase curiously recalling Christian hymnody when he speaks of 
the soul, after it has deserved to be purged from contagion, returning fully 
restored to the fountain of eternal life—ad perennis vitae fontem restituta in 
integrum (C. i. 12, 17). Boethius, Cons. Phil. iv. metre 1, has a beautiful little 
poem on the rising of the soul to the “dear lost land” (James’ translation): 


huc te si reducem referat via, 
quam nune requiris immemor ; 

haec dices, memini, patria est mihi, 
hine ortus hic sistam gradum. 


Julian, Or. iv. 136 a, speaks of good men’s souls ascending after death to 
Serapis, who saves them from γένεσις thereafter, and brings them to the 
intelligible world, κόσμος νοητός. 


Macrobius 191 


the highest worship is due, and whoever comes into this temple 
must realize he has to live the priest’s life (C. i. 14, 2)’. 

The fruit of virtue lies in a good conscience (C. ii. 10, 2) but for 
the wicked there is the more awful meaning of hell, the infera. All 
that the poets have said is but parable; Phlegethon and Acheron 
mean but anger and sorrow, Styx whatever plunges men among 
themselves into the whirlpool of hate. ‘he vulture is but the 
torture of conscience as it tears the guilty flesh, and with reminder 
of past sin lacerates the vital parts without ceasing, ever waking 
remorse anew should it seek to rest, never by any pity sparing 
itself—all in accordance with the law that no guilty man is ever 
acquitted by himself [Juvenal xiii. 3], nor can escape his own sentence 
on himself. So with the other penalties—the guilty ever seem to 
themselves on the brink of being overtaken by the ruin they deserve’. 
No, the insight of the ¢heologi is not in vain (C, i. 10, 12—15). 

This is the view of the Neo-Platonists. Synesius makes a 
somewhat playful allusion to it in a letter (32) about a bad slave 
whom he does not punish—‘“‘for his wickedness is sufficient punish- 
ment for the wicked.” More seriously elsewhere he represents 
insensibility to evil, the absence of a desire to rise, as the last and 
worst state of evil®, So too says Augustine, with that note of 
experience which marks his theology, “Tov hast ordained, and so 
it is, that every disordered spirit is itself its own punishment” (Conf. 
i. 12,19). The direct way in which he makes this law the law of 
God will strike the reader. It puts a different complexion on the 
doctrine at once. Later on he sums it up more briefly, though hardly 
more tellingly, peccatwm poena peccati. (See op. imp. ὁ. Jul. i. 44 f.) 

Suicide Macrobius, avowedly following Plotinus*, forbids on the 


3 Porphyry, de Abstin. ii. 49 6 φιλόσοφος καὶ θεοῦ τοῦ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν ἱερεύς : li. 46 
ἐν τῷ νεῷ τοῦ πατρὸς τῷ κόσμῳ τούτῳ. Synesius, Lp. 57, 1388 o ἔζων... ὥσπερ ἐν 
ἱερῷ περιβόλῳ τῷ κόσμῳ. 

The reader will remember the powerful lines of Persius iii. 35—43, his 
picture of the last stage of damnation virtutem videant intabescantque relicta, 
and the exclamation of the guilty imus, imus praecipites—a passage to which 
Augustine (C. D, ii. 7) refers with approval though he declares it was unproduc- 
tive of effect in view of pagan stories of divine lust. Cf. Boethius, Cons. Phil. 
111, m. 8. 

3 Dreams, 1298 p; cf. Ep. 44, 1372 a, an important letter on the whole ques- 
tion of retribution. Cf. the discussion of this in Boethius, Cons. Phil. iv. 4. 

4 Porphyry, vita Plotini 11, says he thought of suicide but Plotinus came to 
him and forbade him. Plotinus, nn. i. 9 εἰ δὲ οἷος ἕκαστος ἔξεισι, τοιαύτην ἴσχει 
ἐκεῖ τάξιν, els τὸ προκόπτειν οὔσης ἐπιδόσεως οὐκ ἐξακτέον. Petit, op. cit. p. 75, 
shews that Macrobius cites Porphyry’s view (de Abstin. ii. 47) on the spirits of 
suicides as Plotinus’, a slip he attributes to memory, though in view of 
Macrobius’ methods one might suppose it due to an intermediary source. 
This whole passage on suicide is quoted by Abelard (Petit, p. 79). 


192 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


ground that “since in the other life souls are to be rewarded for 
the measure of perfection which they have attained in this, one 
must not hasten the end of life while there is still a possibility of 
further improvement. Nor is this idly said. For in the esoteric 
discourses on the soul’s return, it is said that those who sin 
(delinquentes) in this life are like those who stumble upon level 
ground, who can rise without difficulty ; but souls that leave this 
life with the stains of sins upon them are to be compared to those 
who fall sheer down from a great and precipitous height, where 
there is no power to rise again” (C. 1, 13, 15—16). Link to this his 
doctrine of the eternity of the universe and of the soul (C. i. 1, 7; 
14, 20), and his picture is not unlike Prudentius’ description of the 
horrors of eternal hell’. On the other hand, heaven, he says, is 
closed to all but perfect purity (C. i. 13, 19). 

Such is Macrobius’ presentment of the doctrines of the Neo- 
Platonists. It is a creed of great moral elevation with many 
elements of value. Definite and explicit he escapes the vagueness 
that so often vitiates the teaching of his school, of Trismegistus, for 
instance ; while by skimming over the surface of things, as is his 
wont, he seems to avoid the difficulties which a Plotinus presents. 
Here at least Neo-Platonism is given in a form a plain man can 
surely understand and readily put into action. What is wanting ? 

I will only ask the reader to consider two contemporary criti- 
cisms, if I may so call them both. On the funeral monument of 
Praetextatus is given a list of his priesthoods and with it a more 
impressive list of the mysteries into which he was initiated. What 
had he to do with the rites of Bacchus and Eleusis, with Mithras 
and the tawrobolium, when such a simple faith as this was before 
him? Or, to put it generally, why did theurgy so persistently dog 
the steps of Neo-Platonism? Why was magic necessary to supple- 
ment philosophy? What is the meaning of the wistful prayerfulness 
of Trismegistus, his desire for and belief in communion with a 
personal God? Macrobius does not seem conscious of such things, 
or, if he is, he rather inclines to disdain them (Sat. vii. 2, 13). 

Augustine tells us how he read “certain books of the Platonists 

1 Prudentius, Hamart. 825—839. A little lower Prudentius describes the 
upward flight of the purified soul after death, unhampered by the body, in 
language which recalls these doctrines set forth by Macrobius. See too Syne- 
sius, Ep. 44, on punishment after death. Hermes Trismegistus (Ed. Bipont. 
Apul. il. p. 312) says guilty souls are condemned on an examination held by the 
summus daemon ; ut in hoc obsit animae aeternitas, quod sit immortali sententia 


aeterno supplicio subjugata. This he says is more to be feared than physical 
death. 


Macrobius 193 


translated from Greek into Latin,” and was greatly helped by them. 
From them he gained the first hint for his solution of the problem 
of evil, with his doctrines of being and of order. Much that he 
there learned abode with him for ever, but he was not satisfied. 
The language in which he phrases his criticism is full of scriptural 
metaphors, and may strike the Classical student as oddly as the 
Scriptures did Augustine himself at first; yet in his own way 
Augustine has felt and is expressing the real weakness of Neo- 
Platonism. 

“Those pages present not the image of this piety:—the tears 
of confession, Thy sacrifice, the troubled spirit, the contrite and 
humbled heart, the salvation of the people, the Bride, the City, the 
earnest of the Holy Spirit, the cup of our redemption. No one 
there sings: ‘Shall not my soul be submitted to God? From Him 
is my salvation. For He is my God and my salvation, my guardian ; 
I shall not be moved more’ [Ps. Ixii. 1—2, Septuagint]. No one 
there hears Him calling ‘Come unto Me, ye who labour.’ They 
disdain to learn of Him for He is meek and humble of heart. For 
Thou hast hidden these things from the wise and prudent and hast 
revealed them unto babes” (Conf. vii. 21, 27). 


CHAPTER IX 


ST AUGUSTINE'S CONFESSIONS 
Factus eram ipse mihi magna quaestio. 
Conf. iv. 4, 9 


Or all men of the fourth century St Augustine is the most 
conspicuous’, It is not merely that in intellectual and spiritual 
endowment he eclipses his contemporaries, but Harnack is un- 
questionably right when he says that between St Paul and Luther 
there is none that can be measured with Augustine. He gave 
to Christian thought on God and man, on sin and grace, on 
the world and the church, an impulse and a direction, the force 
of which is still unspent. He shaped the Catholic theory of the 
Church, he gave the great Popes the idea of the City of God, 
of God’s Empire, he was the father of the mystics, the founder 
of the scholastic philosophy of the Middle Ages, and above all 
the hero and master of the Renaissance and the Reformation. 
He gave the Catholic Church the baleful doctrine “Compel them 
to come in”; he gave Calvin the doctrine of Predestination and he 
was the only father from whom Luther really learnt. 


1 The literature on St Augustine is immense. I have used for the purposes 
of this essay Harnack, History of Dogma, section on St Augustine, and appendix 
on Neo-Platonism; also Harnack’s separate lecture on the Confessions of 
St Augustine; J. Reinkens, die Geschichtsphilosophie des hl. Aug.; Boissier, La 
Fin du Paganisme, bk 111. 6. 3 on the Conversion of St Aug. (also in the Revue 
des Deux Mondes, 1 Jan. 1888, vol. 85, pp. 43—69); E. Feuerlein, Ueber die 
Stellung A.’s in der Kirchen- τι. Culturgeschichte in Histor. Zeitschrift, vol. xxii. 
(1869), pp. 270—313; Loofs, Art. on St Augustine in Herzog’s Realencyklopiidie 
(last ed.), vol. 1.; H. A. Naville, St Aug., Etude sur le développement de sa pensée 
jusqu’a Vépoque de son ordination, Genéve 1872; Mozley, Augustinian Doctrine 
of Predestination; and some other books which I have used incidentally. Last, 
but not least, I would mention the lectures (as yet unpublished) of my former 
colleague, Dr John Watson, of Queen’s University, Canada, from whom I have 
had very great help. 


St Augustines Confessions 195 


But it is not with his theology or his philosophy or his influence 
on the Church that we have here to deal. For the present we are 
concerned with him as a man of letters, who with his wonderfully 
full and various nature entered into all the life of his time, and 
read the world and the heart of man as they had not been read 
before ; who after much hesitation became convinced that in the 
Church was truth and so to the Church made his submission, there 
to learn the way to God, in Whom at last he found rest for his soul. 
All this story is told in his Confessions, a book which among all 
books written in Latin stands next to the Aeneid for the width of 
its popularity and the hold it has upon mankind. It does not 
perhaps appeal to the same audience, it is not strictly a work of art, 
but it is as full of life and touches the heart as truly, though from a 
different quarter. It was a new departure in literature and stands 
at the head of a new school. It was in his own day the most widely 
read and liked of Augustine’s works, and it is still printed and 
re-printed, translated and re-translated. 

Its chief marks are truthfulness, observation and experience. 
Here is a man whom nothing escapes. Everything interests him, 
everything raises questions for him, and he must get to the root of 
everything. He studies himself, and relentlessly analyses his moods, 
his fancies, his ambitions, his feelings, his aspirations after God and 
his attempts to escape Him. He is not merely curious, for all these 
enquiries are related to one another, and all tend to the great 
questions: Who am I? Why amI? For whom am I? What is the 
meaning and purpose of this complicated and even self-contradictory 
nature of man, of this disordered and confusing world? At one time 
he tells us that he came near abandoning the search for the answers to 
these questions, so difficult were they, but he found its abandonment 
more impossible than its prosecution and persevered till he found 
what he sought. This inability of his to be content with no answer 
or a make-believe answer would have been remarkable in any age, 
but how much more in his own age, an age when the spirit of 
inquiry seemed to be saying farewell to mankind? It was an age, 
t00, when after centuries of rhetoric and tyranny mankind seemed 
almost as incapable of speaking the truth as of seeking it’. 


1 The reader of the Confessions is every now and then reminded that 
Augustine was once a rhetorician. Such plays as that on peritus and periturus 
are far-away echoes from the school. This makes more significant the fact 
brought out by Mr E. W. Watson (Classical Review, Feb. 1901, p. 65), 
“ Rhetorician as Augustine was, and master of several styles, he had a curious 
power of dropping his rhetoric when he undertook in homilies and com- 


13—2 


196 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Told by another, the history of Augustine’s development, of his 
complex life, his experiments (his own word) and observations in 
manners, morals and religion would have been interesting. Told 
by himself it has a unique value, as the record of a peculiarly rich 
life; a story of real experience, the drama of a soul’s progress from 
error to truth, from uncertainty to rest in the love of God, in which 
every stage is won by struggle, where nothing is done by guesswork 
and everything has been tested in actual living, all set forth by the 
man who has been through it all and who can tell it with a charm, 
a power and an honesty rarely to be found together in any writer of 
any age. 

He is observant, he is truthful, and he is affectionate. His 
nature was a large and genial one. He seems to have liked, to have 
loved, the men and women he met. He certainly won their love 
and kept it. His pupils in rhetoric became his disciples in thought 
and faith, following him over land and sea to be with him and to 
share his spiritual and intellectual life. It is this that makes his 
book what it is. The keen intellect is not quicker than the warm 
heart to detect the weakness of a wrong view of God and man. 
Intellect and instinct have each their strength and their weakness, 
and in Augustine they correct each other. Emotion cannot lead him 
where reflexion will not approve, nor can thought rest where heart 
is dissatisfied. He must be clear and he must be in contact with 
flesh and blood, so in turn he rises above Manichaeanism and Neo- 
Platonism. He must have a rational view of God, a God supreme 
and free from any taint of responsibility for evil, and yet a God 
Who knows and feels a man’s inability to overcome evil by his own 
effort, a God Who knows the human heart at least as sympathetic- 
ally as he does himself and does not love it less, in fact the God of 
grace. God is the origin of his life, and his life, properly understood, 
consists in returning to God, living in Him and enjoying Him’, but 
here he rejects or supplements Neo-Platonism, for his experience 
has taught him that such life is impossible under the Neo-Platonic 
scheme of things with a remote God ; his heart cries out for a self- 
revealing God, Who will Himself come directly into relation with 
the heart of man and lift man into Himself. ‘Thus his book is not 


mentaries to interpret Scripture.” I do not think it fanciful to find the same 
passion for reality underlying another fact which Mr Watson mentions. He 
quotes Norden, Antike Kunstprosa, to the effect that Augustine was the first to 
form his rhythms by accent instead of quantity. 

1 Conf. x. 22, 32 Ipsa est beata vita gaudere ad te, de te, propter te; ipsa est 
et non est altera. Cf. de Beata Vita, 35. 


St Augustine's Confessions 197 


at all abstract, it touches life on the quick, and in the story of 
Augustine it mirrors the inarticulate movement of the old world 
from heathenism to Christianity, that moral, intellectual and spiritual 
dissatisfaction with other cults and philosophies which drew mankind 
to the Church. 

He tells us the story of his career. He was born at Thagaste ; 
he studied there, at Madaura and Carthage; he taught rhetoric at 
Thagaste and Carthage, at Rome and Milan, and then returned to 
Africa. A life more uneventful could hardly be conceived—no 
striking episodes, no great perils, a little illness, commonplace 
pleasures. Yet the story gives us vastly more insight into the society 
of the time than all the letters of Symmachus, with his splendid 
friends and his dangerous intimacies with Emperor and usurper. In 
the Confessions we are in the heart of a family, we see them as they 
see one another, we know their ideas and their aspirations, and we 
learn what they are reading and what they are thinking about. 

Augustine was born at Thagaste on the 13th of November, 354. 
His father Patricius was on the whole a heathen, a man of a very 
kindly nature, but very quick-tempered’. His ideals were not 
perhaps very high, he enjoyed life? and he was anxious for his 
son to get on in the world. Monnica, Augustine’s mother, was a 
well-trained, tactful, Christian woman. She had the sense, her son 
tells us, to recognize her husband’s various humours, and so care- 
fully avoided provoking him by word or deed when he was angry 
that she never had a blow from him, as certain of her acquaintance 
did from their own more amiable husbands. She was essentially a 
peace-maker and exercised a good influence on the “acid conversa- 
tions” of the women of Thagaste. Monnica was the more positive 
influence in the home, and while Patricius by his good nature and 
love of. pleasure set his son an example of taking the world comfort- 
ably and enjoying all it offers, her more strenuous and intelligent 
nature left a deeper and more lasting stamp on Augustine, though 
as usual the lighter ideal won the prompter response to its appeals. 
The early impressions of his mother’s Christian faith and life were 
never effaced through all his years of moral and intellectual wander- 
ing. When he once began to reflect, nothing satisfied him that did 
not somehow bear “the name of Christ’,” neither Cicero’s Hortensius 


1 Conf. ix. 9, 19 sicut benevolentia praecipuus ita ira fervidus. People knew 
quam ferocem conjugem sustineret Monnica. 

2 Conf. ii. 8, 6 gaudens vinolentia. ; 

3 Cf. Conf. iii. 4, 8 on the Hortensius (cited on p. 193); v. 14, 25 quibus 
tamen philosophis, quod sine nomine salutari Christi essent, curationem languoris 
animae meae committere omnino recusabam. Cf. too vi. 4, 5, 


198 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


nor the philosophy of the Academics. We get a glimpse of the 
family relations again, when Augustine tells us of his gratification 
when Monnica on her death-bed told him that he had been a good 
son (pius) and that she had never heard from his mouth a harsh or 
rude word directed against her (Conf. ix. 12, 30). At the same 
time, he confesses that much of his conduct greatly troubled her. 
Of his school-days Augustine has left us an interesting picture’ ἡ 
—the lessons, especially the Greek, which he found as tiresome as 
other boys do, the rod, from which he prayed to be delivered, 
and his general preference for play. Sometimes he did not stick 
to the truth, he pilfered from his parents’ cellar either to eat 
himself or to have something for his playmates’, and sometimes 
he did not play fairly. Yet he had no mind to be imposed 
on himself, and he was a bright, intelligent boy (bonae spei 
puer, i. 16, 26), who waked the interest and hopes of those who 
knew him. For more advanced instruction he was sent to Madaura, 
and after a year’s interval he went to Carthage, “thanks more to the 
spirit than the wealth of my father” (ii. 3, 6), who was however 
aided by a rich fellow-townsman, Romanianus, for long Augustine’s 
steady friend. here were many parents much richer than Patricius 
who did no such thing for their boys, and people admired him for 
it. Of course it was not every father whose son was an Augustine. 
Augustine was now sixteen years old when he went, as we 
should say, to the university at Carthage®, It was a great 
port with a famous history, a beautiful city with a great inter- 
mixture of population largely heathen, “a city of noise’ and 
pleasure,” says Boissier. The boy had been captured by Virgil 
and was an eager and quick student and did well in his studies. 
But the same ardent nature that had felt the passion of Dido, and 
the ambition that had once led him to take unfair advantages in 
play, now led him astray. His fellow-students were given to sensual 


1 See Conf. bk 1. generally. 

2 One very interesting discussion in the Confessions (ii. 6, 12—9, 17) turns 
on the question why he went with some boy friends to rob an orchard, though 
his father had a pear-tree which bore better fruit, though he might freely have 
taken from his father’s tree, and though he did not want and did not eat 
the stolen pears after all. Illa autem decerpsi tantum ut furarer,..An libuit 
facere contra legem, saltem fallacia quia potentatu non poteram, ut mancam 
libertatem captivus imitarer faciendo impune quod non liceret ?..,.Et tamen solus 
id non fecissem...Sed quoniam in illis pomis voluptas mihi non erat, ea erat 
in ipso facinore, quam faciebat consortium simul peccantium...Risus erat quasi 
titillato corde, quod fallebamus eos qui haec a nobis fieri non putabant et 
vehementer nolebant. ᾿ 

3 Conf. ii. 3, 6; and iii. 1, 


St Augustine's Confessions 199 


pleasures, and Augustine went with them. He heard them boast 
and boasted to excel them, though he confesses he did not do all 
he told them he did. The brutal amusements of the eversores, who 
overturned people in the streets, never appealed to him. His 
temptation lay another way. He “wandered in the streets of 
Babylonia and wallowed in the mud.” Even before he came to 
Carthage his mother had thought it would be well to check his 
irregularities by marrying him to some one, but this was not pressed 
as it might spoil his career. Licentiousness, the theatre and pride— 
all these lie deplores in later life, yet no one except his mother 
seems to have regarded his conduct as noticeably bad. 

It has been pointed out that the wild period of Augustine’s life 
cannot have been very long. He went to Carthage at sixteen, in 
the year 370, and he soon took to himself the woman with whom he 
lived in strict fidelity till they parted about 385. Their son was 
born in 372 and they called him Adeodatus, a significant name’ for 
such a child. Augustine was obviously very fond of him, and, when 
he grew up a bright boy, not less proud. Even the Church at that 
time recognized monogamous concubinage, and this woman may 
have been a freedwoman or some one who could not be legally 
married to him. At all events Monnica received her and her child 
with Augustine*. Patricius had died in 371. 

At the age of nineteen his mind was diverted to more serious 
things than the life of pleasure. Hitherto he had hardly thought. 
As a boy, on the occasion of some passing illness, he had asked for 
baptism, but when he very quickly recovered, it was deferred. It 
was generally believed that baptism washed away all previous sins 
and consequently that it was best administered, if possible, on the 
death-bed. People used to say, Augustine tells us, ‘Let him alone ; 
let him do as he likes; he is not yet baptized.” This course was 
followed in his own case and he regretted 10", However at nineteen 
he came upon a book of Cicero’s, now lost, the Hortensius, and it 


1 Names such as Deogratias, Deus dedit, were not uncommon in Africa, being 
apparently translations of Semitic names like Mattathiah, Nathaniel and so forth. 
Augustine’s words are worth quoting (Conf. iv. 2, 2): servans tori fidem, in qua 
sane experirer exemplo meo, quid distaret inter conjugalis placiti modum, quod 
foederatum esset generandi gratia, et pactum libidinosi amoris, ubi proles etiam 
contra votum nascitur; quamvis jam nata cogat se diligi. The last clause is 
remarkable and shews the man’s character. 

2 See Loofs, art. Augustinus in Herzog’s Realencyklopddie fiir Protestantische 
Theologie, 1897 edition, p. 261, and Council of Toledo (4.p. 400), canon 17 there 
cited. Dict. Antt. i. 526, art. concubina. Compare the somewhat similar case 
of Libanius and his son by a concubine, Zp. 983 (to Ammianus Marcellinus). 

3 Conf. i. 11, 17. 


200 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


changed his life’. He now burned with incredible ardour for 
philosophy, as Cicero had intended his readers should*. His prayers 
and desires were changed. He longed to rise above the earthly and 
reach God. It was not this or that school, but wisdom herself that 
was the object of his aspiration—a disinterested passion for truth 
awakened at last and conscious of itself. One thing gave him 
pause; the name of Christ was not there. So he turned to the 
Scriptures to see what they were like and not unnaturally he was 
disappointed. They seemed to him quite unworthy of comparison 
with the dignified style of Cicero. In reviewing his life he explains 
this. He at this time took a merely external view of the Scriptures— 
acies mea non penetrabat interiora ejus*®. Yet a new life had really 
begun for him—the quest of truth. He had begun to be really 
interested in religion, and to examine his own. He was dissatisfied 
and now he fell in with the Manichaeans. 

There are forms of religion which take a strong hold of the 
popular mind, but are not so strongly represented in literature 
as others which are less generally accepted. Stoicism for example 
has far more literature than the popular cults of the early Empire. 
Manichaeanism in like manner is much less accessible to the western 
reader than Neo-Platonism, side by side with which it disputed the 
field with Catholic Christianity in the fourth century. Of widely 
different origin these religions had drawn nearer one another with 
time. Manichaeanism had Christian elements, and Neo-Platonism 
and Christianity had Oriental. All three had doctrines in common, 
all three dealt with revelation, salvation and immortality. 

Mani, who died about 277 a.p., blended in his religion elements 
drawn from Persian Zoroastrianism, from Syrian Gnosticism, from 
Christianity and perhaps from Buddhism. His system turns on the 
origin of evil, which he thus explained*. There are two eternal 


1 Conf. iii. 4, 7 librum quendam Ciceronis. The fashionable reading seems 
now to be cujusdam for quendam. I have not gone into the ms. evidence, but 
the genitive seems to me a foppishness of which Augustine surely ought to have 
been incapable. His Aeneae nescio cujus (i. 13, 20) is not very happy, but this 
is worse, to say nothing of the ingratitude. He quite honestly says Virgilius in 
i. 14, 23. 

2 Cic. de Div. 2. 1, 1 cohortati sumus ut maxime potuimus ad philosophiae 
studium eo libro, qui est inscriptus Hortensius. 

3 Conf. iii. 5, 9. 

4 See Gustav Fliigel, Mani, seine Lehre τι. seine Schriften, aus dem Fihrist 
des Abi’lfaradsch Muhammad ben Ishak al-Warrak, Leipzig 1862—especially 
pp. 86 to 105 for a translation of the surviving fragments of Mani’s original 
teaching. Naville, op. cit. ch. τι. pp. 19—28, has also a very good and clear 
account of Manichaeanism and its appeal to Augustine. I am indebted here as 
elsewhere to Dr John Watson. 


St Augustine's Confessions 201 


principles or substances, the one good and light, the other evil and 
dark, and the universe is the result of their mixture. Light and 
dark are here not symbols but actual descriptions. Each of these 
principles involves the same confusion of spiritual and material, of 
the physical phenomena of nature and the facts of the moral order. 
Each has five elements—the world of light falling into gentleness, 
knowledge, understanding, mystery and insight corresponding with 
the gentle breeze, the wind, light, water and fire and contrasted 
with the elements of the kingdom of darkness, viz. mist, burning, 
the hot wind, poison and darkness. The world of light overlay the 
world of darkness, and out of the latter came Satan to storm the 
former’. The King of the Paradises of Light produced the Primal 
Man (Christ, not Jesus), and arming him with the gentle breeze, the 
wind etc, sent him to fight Satan, who was armed with mist and 
burning and the rest. Satan triumphed over the Primal Man, who 
was however rescued by the King of the Paradises of Light, but not 
without a certain confusion of the elements. Thus fire and burning 
are involved in each other, mist and water,—good and bad mingled. 
Of these mingled elements the visible universe was made by com- 
mand of the King of the World of Light, in order to their separation. 
The moon and sun were created to take part in this work, the moon 
drawing to herself elements of light (6.0. from a body at the time of 
death) and passing them to the sun’, who in turn passes them 
onward and upward, till at last good shall be separated from evil, 
the latter massed below in a pit covered by a stone as large as the 
earth. The blooming of a plant and the aspiration of a soul are 
alike the disentangling of particles of light, while the eating of a 
plant® or the generation of a new life* means their re-imprisonment. 
Hence asceticism is necessarily a part of the Manichaean religion. 
Mankind are apparently descended from Adam and Eve, whose family 


1 Fliigel, op. cit. p. 87. Aug. Conf. vii. 2, 3 refers to this war of the powers. 
Cf. v. 10, 20 cited below. 

2 When the moon is waxing, she is gathering light, and when waning she is 
transmitting it to the sun, 

8 Mani’s followers were grouped into two main classes, the higher and the 
ordinary (auditores). If vegetable food were eaten by the latter, light was 
imprisoned in the process, but not if eaten by the former. To obviate starva- 
tion a portion might be given to a man of the higher grade and the hearer 
might eat the rest. Cf. Aug. Conf. iii. 10, 18 quae particulae summi et veri Dei 
ligatae fuissent in illo pomo nisi electi sancti dente ac ventre solverentur; and 
- iv. 1, 1 escas de quibus nobis in officina aqualiculi sui fabricarent angelos et deos 
per quos liberaremur. 

4 See Aug. de Mor. Manich. ii. 18, 65, the reason of the boasted Manichaean 
chastity (which had once impressed Augustine) was ne carni anima implicaretur. 
ee Naville, p. 83. 


202 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


history is terribly complicated by mythology and the intervention 
of archons and Cain’s two daughters by Eve, Worldly-Wisdom 
and the “daughter of Avarice.” Man is of Satan’s creation, but 
owing to the imprisoned particles of light he too is of mixed nature, 
not wholly evil nor wholly good. 

Mani rejected the Old Testament as the work of the devil. 
With his view of chastity he could not approve of the patriarchs on 
any terms. Jesus he set among the prophets, though His flesh was 
only a phantom and His crucifixion only apparent—a type of the 
general crucifixion of a portion of the Primal Man upon matter. 
Jesus had foretold the coming of the Paraclete who should clear His 
teaching of Jewish interpolations, and Mani was himself the Para- 
clete. In this case, as Augustine thought later on, it was a pity 
that his astronomy was incorrect’. ~ | 

The question of evil was very much before the minds of men in 
Augustine’s day. Synesius, for example, wrote a book on Providence 
to explain that the triumph of evil is only temporary. Here then 
was a system which, it might be said, looked the facts well in the 
face and gave a plausible explanation of them. It recognized man’s 
dual nature, and relieved man of the responsibility for his own 
sinfulness?, while it relieved God of the responsibility for the general 
existence of evil in man and in nature*. Here was a system which 
made the most magnificent promises of knowledge*, and rescued a 
thoughtful man from the necessity of accepting the immoralities 
and anthropomorphisms of the Old 'Testament—serious difficulties 

1 Conf. v. 5, 8 Spiritum sanctum consolatorem et ditatorem fidelium...persona- 
liter in se esse persuadere conatus est. Itaque cum de coelo ac stellis, et de solis 
ac lunae motibus falsa dixisse deprehenderetur...cum ea non solum ignorata sed 
etiam falsa tam vesana superbiae vanitate diceret ut ea tanquam divinae personae 
tribuere sibi niteretur. 

2 Conf. v. 10, 8 Adhuc enim (he is speaking of his life in Rome while still 
more or less a Manichaean) mihi videbatur non esse nos qui peccamus sed nescio 
quam aliam in nobis peccare naturam. Et delectabat superbiam meam extra 
culpam esse; et cum aliquid mali fecissem non confiteri me fecisse. 

3 Conf. vii. 14, 20 Et quia non audebat anima mea, ut ei displiceret Deus 
meus, nolebat esse tuum quidquid ei displicebat. Et inde ierat in opinionem 
duarum substantiarum. Cf. v. 10, 20 Et quia Deum bonum nullam malam 
naturam creasse qualiscumque pietas me credere cogebat, constituebam ex adverso 
sibi duas moles, utramque injinitam, sed malam angustius, bonam grandius. He 


feels Omar’s difficulty but he would have repudiated Omar’s explanation as 
blasphemy : 


O thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, 
And ev’n with Paradise devise the Snake: 
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man 


Is blacken’d—Man’s forgiveness give—and take. 


4 Conf. vi. 5, 7 illic temeraria pollicitatione scientiae credulitatem irrideri. 
Cf. De Utilitate credendi i. 2 quis non his pollicitationibus illiceretur, praesertim 
adolescentis animus cupidus veri. 


St Augustine’s Confessions -203 


which Augustine greatly felt’. It saved him from bowing to the 
authority of the Church and from believing what he could not 
understand*, by appealing to his reason, his love of truth and his 
common sense. At the same time it professed and could exhibit a 
certain ascetic holiness—if asceticism is holiness. 

Augustine, as we have seen, had been quickened to the search 
for truth by the Hortensius. He had found the Old Testament 
morally unsatisfactory besides being deficient in style and charm. 
The Church was committed to it, he thought, teaching that God 
had hands and feet, and holding up the patriarchs as virtuous men. 
Anxious to be free and to be right intellectually, he was also 
beginning to be conscious of his own moral failures, which he would 
not attribute to God but for which he did not wish to blame 
himself. But here was a door of escape. Manichaeanism recognized 
the facts he had himself been feeling; and gave an explanation so 
far acceptable to his reason and, he says, to his vanity. And it did 
more. He was already revolting from the self-indulgent and sensual 
life he had been leading and recognized the contrast between his 
own conduct and character and the chastity and holiness of the 
Manichaean ascetics. He also found among them the “name of 
Christ*,” for Mani accepted Christianity, and after purging it of its 
errors, exhibited the true faith of the Gospel, or at least he said so. 
Here then were Christ’s name, holiness and philosophy. So he 
jomed the Manichaeans and though he was never more than a 
“hearer” he was an ardent adherent and a proselytiser*. He was 
required not to worship idols, not to use magic and not to kill 
animals, but he was not required to break with his mistress. 

It is interesting to find that Monnica, who had been distressed 
before about his irregular life, now debated with herself whether she 


1 Conf. iii. 7,12. The Manichaeans asked him utrum forma corporea Deus 
jiniretur et haberet capillos et ungues; et utrum justi existimandi essent qui 
haberent uxores multas simul et occiderent homines et sacrificarent de animalibus. 
Quibus rerum ignarus perturbabar. iii. 10, 18 irridebam illos sanctos servos et 
prophetas tuos. 

2 Julian (ap. Greg. Naz. Or. iii. p. 97 8) sneers at the Christians on this 
score; ὑμῶν ἡ ἀλογία καὶ ἡ ἀγροικία, καὶ οὐδὲν ὑπὲρ τὸ πιστεῦσον τῆς ὑμετέρας ἐστὶ 
σοφίας. 

8. Conf. iii. 6, 10. He speaks of the Manichaean use of Christ’s name: 
viscum confectum commixtione syllabarum nominis tui et Domini Jesu Christi 
et paracleti consolatoris nostri Spiritus Sancti: the syllables merely, not the 
real thing. 

4 Conf. iii. 12, 21 quod...nonnullis quaestiunculis jam multos imperitos exagi- 
tassem. iv. 15, 26 dicebam parvulis fidelibus tuis...garrulus et ineptus ; cur ergo 
errat anima quam fecit Deus. Later on (Conf. v. 10, 19) he speaks of his 
pristina animositas in maintaining Manichaeanism. 


204 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


ought to allow her heretic son to continue in the house with her. 
She was reassured by a dream in which an angel told her she 
should yet see her son “standing where she did”; nor was she 
disturbed by Augustine’s endeavour to shew that it meant she too 
would be a Manichaean’. She tried to induce a bishop to reason 
with him, but the bishop, who had been brought up as a Manichaean 
and knew all about the system and who-seems also to have known 
Augustine, refused to engage him. ‘‘Let him alone,” he said, “he 
will find out by reading®.”” When Monnica wept and was impor- 
tunate, he bade her “believe it impossible that the child of those 
tears should be lost.” 

Augustine was at the time professor of rhetoric in Thagaste, but 
a friend’s death upset him so much that he left his native place 
and went to Carthage in or about 376. This friend had followed 
Augustine into Manichaeanism, but had been baptized while ill and 
unconscious. When, on his rallying, Augustine had laughed about 
this baptism, expecting him to be as ready to laugh himself, he 
suddenly fired up and bade him cease such talk. It had a great 
effect on Augustine, which was probably heightened by the friend’s 
death of a recurrence of the fever. ‘My heart,” he writes, “ was 
darkened by this sorrow; and everything I saw was death...I became 
a great question to myself and I asked my soul why it was sad and 
why it troubled me so much; and it knew nothing to answer me... 
Weeping only was pleasant to me, and had succeeded my friend in 
my affection®.” When he bade himself hope in God, his God was “a 
vain phantasm, his own idle imagining.” For he tells us several 
times that while he was a Manichaean he thought of God as “an 
infinite, luminous body ” (iv. 16, 31), “surrounding and pervading 
creation, infinite in every direction,” as a vast sea might hold a vast 
sponge (vii. 5, 7), “ὁ bright mass of material substance*.” Life was 
painful to him, and death was terrible’, so he left his native place 
where everything suggested his friend, and went to Carthage. 

He was very busy reading and thinking. At twenty years of 
age, he tells us, he read Aristotle’s Categories and understood the 
book without a teacher. The exercise was no doubt useful, but 


1 Conf. iii. 11, 19—20. 

2 Conf. iii. 12, 21 ipse legendo reperiet. 

3 Conf. iv. 4,8—9. ‘Grief fills the room up of my absent child.” 

4 Conf. v. 10, 19 cum de Deo meo cogitare vellem, cogitare nisi moles corporum 
non noveram (neque enim videbatur mihi esse quidquam quod tale non esset)... 
20 massa lucidissimae molis tuae. 

5 Conf. iv. 6, 11 taedium vivendi et moriendi metus. 


St Augustine’s Confessions 205 


after all his chief energies were not directed to Aristotle. ‘“ His 
remarks on this work,’ says Dr Watson, “shew that he was not 
able, in his pre-occupation with new problems, to appreciate the 
aim of Aristotle in this analysis of the main elements by which 
being is characterized. The use he made of it was to apply to his 
Manichaean conception of God, as an infinitely extended substance, 
the categories which for Aristotle were simply the most general 
modes of determining things. In this external application to a 
foreign matter of predicates accepted on authority we have the 
beginning of a false method, which afterwards played so large a 
part in Scholasticism.” It is well to notice what weight Authority 
carried universally in this age. The reader may for example be 
referred to Julian and Macrobius as instances of men who lived by 
Authority and dogmata. 

Augustine was also exercised in another line of inquiry which 
- would seem less likely to have been profitable but perhaps really 
aided him more. Manichaeanism was fatalistic and it boasted an 
astronomy of its own. It set the primal man in the sun, the mother 
of life in the moon, and the primal elements of life in the twelve 
stars. While, like a good Manichaean, Augustine would have 
nothing to do with magic, the case was different with astrology 
and he became very much interested in it, in its ‘‘ mathematicians” 
and “books of generations.” His friends, especially an eminent 
physician, Vindicianus, and the young Nebridius, argued against 
all this divination, urging that it rested on deceit and its occasional 
successes were the result of accident (iv. 3, 4—6). He was at last 
cured of this passing interest by an experiment. A rich and 
eminent man, Firminus, had been born at the same moment as 
a slave of his father’s, and their horoscopes were carefully taken, 
and though these entirely coincided, the freeman and the slave had 
had a very different experience of life (vii. 6, 8). 

But the matter did not rest here, for Augustine had been 
making considerable researches for himself into Astronomy’ and 
found that ‘‘ secular science” gave an accurate account of solstices, 
equinoxes and eclipses and so forth. He laments that the astrono- 
mers had too often not found the Lord of the universe, but he was 
none the less impressed with the fact that they had discovered much 
and could predict to an hour an eclipse many years beforehand, while 
on comparison the voluminous writings of Mani proved full of fables 


1 Conf. v. 3, 3—6. 


206 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


and gave no account of the science which he could understand. He 
was uneasy about this, but he waited till he could be clear’, and he 
had long to wait, for it was not for nine years that he met the great 
Manichaean preacher Faustus*. Faustus at last came and Augustine 
found him charming, but alas! “it was exactly what they always 
say, that he prattled, only more agreeably.” He had learnt by now, 
he says, and had learnt it, though unconsciously, from God, that a 
thing is not necessarily true because eloquently said, nor false 
because the sounds the lips utter are harsh, nor on the other hand 
is rough speech always truth nor eloquence always falsehood. He 
came to closer quarters with the preacher, and found that his 
training had been quite ordinary and his reading slight, and that 
he could not solve Augustine’s difficulties. However Faustus was 
honest—“ he knew he did not know tliese things and was not 
ashamed to own it; he was not one of those many chatter-boxes 
I had suffered under, who tried to teach me and said nothing. He 
had some sense (cor habebat)...so I liked him better” (v. 7, 12). So 
Faustus “ without wishing it or knowing it”. began to release him 
from the snares of Manichaeanism, for he now despaired of ever 
disentangling Mani’s doctrines. 

All the argument was not on the Manichaean side. A certain 
Helpidius declaimed against them in Carthage with some effect on 
Augustine, for he brought them matter from the Scriptures which 
was hard to meet and “their answer struck me as weak.” All they 
could say—and even that only secretly—was that the New Testa- 
ment had been falsified in the interests of the Jewish law (v. 11, 21). 
Nebridius too used to propound a difficulty. Supposing, he said, 
that when the darkness attacked the light, the God of light had 
refused to fight, could the darkness have injured the light or not? 
If it could, then the God of light was subject to violation and 
corruption—an intolerable position, for Augustine, as we saw, 
became a Manichaean to maintain the integrity of God. If on 
the other hand the darkness. could not hurt the light, the Mani- 
chaean system was absurd, for why should there have been a war at 
all? or the defeat of the Primal Man? or the consequent intermixture 
of some of God’s substance with natures not made by Him? or the 
need of any redemption at all*? 

1 Conf. v. 5, 9: note his reservation of judgment—nondum liquido com- 
pereram whether Mani’s astronomy could be explained. 

2 Harnack remarks that the story of Faustus is the one touch of humour 


in the Confessions. 
3 Conf. vii. 2, 3. Jam diu ab usque Carthagine gives us a useful date. 


St Augustine's Confessions 207 


But Augustine was testing Manichaeanism in another way, for 
he was finding out by experience that it had little aid to offer 
toward living aright. For with Augustine the moral side of things 
was as important as the intellectual. The problem of the origin of 
evil was always with him ; he must explain why it was he did what 
was evil. In other words he was conscious of sin, and could not 
escape the thought of his own guilt. He had upon him the fear of 
death and future judgment, a fear which haunted him through all 
his changes of opinion (vi. 16, 26). His doctrine that sin is its own 
- punishment, like others of his doctrines, rested on experience. He 
had been drawn towards the Manichaeans by their chastity, but 
Manichaeanism failed to make him pure. 

Thus Manichaeanism had proved to have little comfort for him 
in the hour of bereavement ; it had lost credit with the exposure of 
the folly of astrology ; its astronomy had been demonstrated to be 
nonsense ; its whole foundation was imperilled by the dilemma of 
Nebridius ; and it had failed to give him the moral strength he had 
hoped from it to rise above the life of sense. 

All this was not reached quickly. He was for years a Mani- 
chaean, and meanwhile he taught at Carthage. He took part in a 
poetic contest in the theatre (iv. 2, 2) and was crowned as victor by 
the proconsul (iv. 8, 5). He read assiduously, and wrote his first 
book, De Pulcro et Apto, a book he was highly pleased with at the 
_ time, but after twenty years he was content to have lost sight of it’. ἡ 
But he did not care for Carthage now. He was older and a professor. 
‘Even as a student he had not liked the eversiones, and now he hated 
the reckless violence with which students not his own would invade 
his classes. Discipline there was none. Even in Rome students 
from Africa had a bad name. At home they committed outrages 
with an insensibility that astounded Augustine, and rendered them- - 
selves liable to correction by the law. But “custom was their 
patron,’ and allowed them to fancy they escaped unpunished because 
their only punishment was the “ blindness of their action,” whereby 
“they suffer far more than they inflict.” ΤῸ escape this atmosphere 
of disorder Augustine resolved to go to Rome, and to Rome he 
went, though it cost him a lie to get away from his mother (383). 
She came to him later on at Milan. At Rome he was at once 

1 Conf. iv. 14, 23 libenter animo versabam...et nullo collaudatore mirabar ; 
and 13, 20. 

2 Conf. v. 8, 14 cum ipsa faciendi caecitate puniantur—in consonance with 


his general view: Jussisti enim, et sic est, ut poena sua sibi sit omnis inordinatus 
animus, i. 12, 19. 


208 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


overtaken by illness and was befriended by another Manichaean 
auditor. But university life in Rome had its own drawbacks. The 
students cheated him of his fees', and he was glad to obtain an 
official post as teacher of rhetoric at Milan, on the recommendation 
of Symmachus (385). 

Here we may pause. He was still friendly with the Mani- 
chaeans, but really in revolt against their religion on the grounds 
which we have seen. For the moment he despaired of reaching 
truth and leant to the scepticism of the Academics. He had 
revolted from the Church and now Manichaeanism failed him. 
Each stage had left its mark on him. Even his wild life at 
Carthage had not been without its use, for he had learnt painfully 
and in himself how real a thing is evil. He had been wakened by 
Cicero to be serious. The Scriptures had repelled him, and though 
he deplored his long years in Manichaeanism, even there he was on ~ 
a higher plane than before. He had found real weaknesses in what 
he believed to be the Christian position, and he had to escape or 
transcend them. When Monnica wept over him, he was not in so 
perilous a case as she supposed. His mind saw more while it saw 
less than hers, and when he came back to the Christian faith he 
retained the real gains of his years of separation. He had become 
a Manichaean because he believed in the real goodness and greatness 
of God, in the value of truth for itself and in purity of life. The 
pursuit of these ideals had brought him through Manichaeanism, a 
stronger man for his years of experiment and perseverance, and 
though now for the moment he despaired of ever achieving truth 
and the knowledge of God, and indeed believed them to be un- 
attainable, he yet did not doubt their value. Happiness was to con- 
sist in these ; that they could not be reached did not alter the fact. 
Even this mood contributed to his growth, for, since his mind was 
essentially positive, he could not rest here, and the double convic- 
tion (for his scepticism was dogmatic) that God really exists and 
‘that man cannot of himself know Him, led him to attach the more 
importance to the Christian doctrine of the self-revelation of God. 
There were however intervening stages, which we must consider. 

When Augustine reached Milan, he was very kindly received by 
Ambrose. It may be a fair inference from the text that Symmachus 
had written to Ambrose, as we know he occasionally did, or it may 
be that Ambrose naturally gave a kindly welcome to a new professor 


1 Conf. v. 12, 22. 


St Augustine’s Confessions 209 


of marked ability. Augustine in return liked him, and went to hear 
him preach, chiefly out of curiosity to see if his eloquence were equal 
to his reputation. ‘The subject-matter he disregarded, but he was 
delighted by the style, which, while it had not so much liveliness or 
charm as Faustus’, shewed more education’. But he could not help 
incidentally noticing what Ambrose said, and in spite of himself 
remarked how truly as well as how eloquently he spoke, and then 
how well he managed to maintain positions Augustine had thought 
indefensible, solving one difficulty after another out of the Old 
Testament. Augustine realized that there was more to be said for 
the Church than he had supposed, and now the balance stood even 
between Christianity and Manichaeanism, and he began to look for 
something by which to prove the latter false. It was against the 
system of Mani that its doctrines about nature were wrong. It 
stood in the way of the Church that Augustine had not yet con- 
ceived of the spiritual nature of God, nor satisfied himself on the 
origin of evil. It was against the Academics that they knew nothing 
of the name:of Christ. So till he found some certain goa] Augustine 
resolved to become and remain a catechumen in the Church of his 
parents’. 

The difficulties of the Old Testament vanished. under Ambrose’s 
application of the allegoric method. “The letter killeth, but 
the spirit maketh alive” was a favourite text with the bishop. 
The method was not his own, but had long been used by the Church 
in the interpretation of the Bible, just as the Greeks used it with 
Homer. Porphyry’s explanation of the Cave of the Nymphs is 
perhaps a fair example. It may be remarked that Augustine thus 
owed his next step to an unsound method, and no doubt this is 
true. The historical method is modern and is sounder, but the 
allegoric method for all its immediate unsoundness really enabled 
an earlier generation to reach, as conveniently for its particular 
mental habits, the same fundamentally sound conclusion that the 
real value of the Old Testament is after all its spiritual content and 
that all else is in the long run immaterial. Augustine’s estimate of 
Scripture was completely changed. He now found in it wonderful 
mysteries which he had never suspected, and he began to accept its 
authority. As man is unable to find truth by pure reason and 
needs such authority (this was the outcome of his scepticism), he 
reflected that God would never have given so excellent a guide had 


1 Conf. v. 18, 23. 2 Conf. v, 14, 24—25. 
G. 14 


210 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


He not meant men to seek Him and to believe in Him through 
its agency. If certain things had to be taken on trust, he reflected 
that in ordinary life the things so taken are innumerable, and that 
if none of these were so accepted, we should do nothing whatever in 
life (vi. 5, 8). 

Meantime Augustine still had worldly ambitions—oflice, gain, 
marriage. He had to deliver a panegyric to Valentinian I1.—most 
of which he says was false, though of course the falsity would be 
applauded by the listeners who knew as well as he did that it was 
false. That day he saw on a Milan street a beggar, drunk, jocular 
and happy, and he compared himself with him. Both sought one 
goal—temporal happiness. A few small coins secured it for the 
beggar—not the true joy, however, but Augustine felt he himself 
reached neither the one nor the other with all his toils and ambi- 
tions. The beggar was free from care; he was not, and yet he 
would not change with him’. He was thoroughly dissatisfied with 
himself and in the dark. ‘How long will this go on?” was a 
question he and his friends often asked (vi. 10,17). Life was 
wretched, death uncertain. “If it steal suddenly upon us, how 
shall we go hence? and where must we learn what we have neglected 
here? Or will it not rather be that we must pay the penalty for 
our negligence?” Would death end all? This was against the 
authority of the Christian faith. ‘‘ Never would so much be done 
for us by God if the life of the soul were ended with the body.” 
Then why not seek God and the truly happy life? But the world 
and its honours and pleasures were sweet. He disliked the idea of 
the celibate life, which holiness then implied ; he felt it would be 
beyond his strength and he knew of no other strength (vi. 11, 
18—20). His mother urged him to marry and he arranged to do 
so. He said farewell to the mother of Adeodatus, but only to 
replace her with another. The fear of future judgment was heavy 
upon him. “I grew more wretched, and Thou drewest nearer. Thy 
right hand was near me ready to lift me from the mire and wash 
me, and 1 knew it not.” 

He still was troubled by his materialistic conception of God, 
“and my heart vehemently cried out against all these phantasms of 
mine.” He felt forced to believe he was really a free agent, that 
when he wished or did not wish a thing, it was himself and not 
another who had the feeling and that there lay the reason of his sin. 


1 Conf. vi. 6, 9. 


St Augustine's Confessions 211 


But who had made him so? How should he be responsible? Who 
set this root of bitterness in him? If the devil, whence was the 
devil? If the devil were an angel once good, whence had the devil 
the evil will that changed him? Nebridius’ dilemma made it hard 
to suppose evil came from matter, for that seemed to limit God’s 
omnipotence (Con/. vii. 3, 4—5). The question tortured him. ‘Thou 
with a goad in my heart wast pricking me on to be impatient till 
Thou shouldst be a certainty to me by inward vision.” 

Help came to him from Neo-Platonism’. Some one gave him 
Victorinus’ Latin translation of some Platonic works, either Plato 
or Plotinus. Here Augustine found a way of escape from both his 
intellectual difficulties. In Absolute Being he found a better account 
of God than in the infinitely diffused luminous body he had always 
hitherto imagined. But of Absolute Being the human mind cannot 
properly conceive, and Neo-Platonism bridged the gulf by a series 
of emanations. First came Intelligence, the κόσμος νοητὸς or intelli- 
gible world, the perfect image of the Absolute. From this came the 
World-Soul, the image of Intelligence, and like it immaterial, 
deriving its illumination from Intelligence which interpenetrates it, 
while it is in contact with the phenomenal, all souls being part of it. 
From the World-Soul is the corporeal or phenomenal world, further 
still from Absolute Being, yet not evil, but rather absolutely good so 
far as it actually is, though of course defective in being in proportion 
as it is removed from Absolute Being”. Where then is the material- 
istic God? He at least has disappeared as a contradiction and an 
absurdity, and with him has gone a burden from Augustine’s mind’®. 
Evil too is now less perplexing. He sees now that evil zs not really 
anything, it is not-being, failure to be*. It is not therefore the 
creation of God. It lies in will and inclination, since everything is 
good so far as it is capable of being, so far as it is’. Evil is turning 
away from God and the intelligible world which comes next Him. 


1 See Conf. vii. c. 9 to the end of the book generally. Harnack refers to these 
chapters as the best account of Neo-Platonism in the Fathers. 

* Conf. vii. 11, 17 et inspexi cetera infra te, et vidi nec omnino esse nec 
omnino non esse; esse quidem quoniam abs te sunt ; non esse autem quoniam id 
quod es non sunt. Id enim vere est quod incommutabiliter manet. 

3 Conf. vii. 10 on God as supra mentem meam lux incommutabilis, iii. 7, 10 
(of his Manichaean days) et non noveram Deum esse spiritum. 

4 Conf. vii. 12, 18 ergo quaecumque sunt, bona sunt; malumque illud quod 
quaerebam unde esset, non est substantia, quia si substantia esset, bonum esset. 

5 Conf. vii. 16, 22 et quaesivi quid esset iniquitas, et non inveni substantiam ; 
sed a summa substantia te Deo detortae in infima voluntatis perversitatem. Note 
here that substantia is not the equivalent of the English substance but the usual 
Latin rendering of the Greek οὐσία, essence. 


14—2 


212 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Hence, as he says, the soul that disregards the divine order of the 
universe, the disordered soul, is its own punishment by its loss of 
real being in the very turning away from God. This appealed to his 
experience, for he had himself found evil-doing prove its own 
punishment’. God’s nature and the question of evil thus grew 
clear to him in Neo-Platonism. 

But there was more to be done. Augustine had found the 
inadequacy of human effort to achieve holiness, to turn to God and 
rise into His nature, and he realized that nothing else will lead to 
happiness. The questions now came, how was man to come into 
contact with God, and how did God reveal Himself to man? Plotinus 
answered the second question by pointing to the emanations, the 
first by a virtual abandonment of philosophy and recourse to ecstasy. 
Man, by entering into his own mind and abstracting himself from 
all else, can obtain under happy circumstances an immediate in- 
tuition of the Absolute Being, can leap by a bound into mystical 
unity with it. Porphyry tells us in his life of Plotinus how often 
his master achieved this happy vision. This latter doctrine appealed 
very strongly to Augustine as the language of his Confessions shews*. 

Augustine now, as he says, saw the “fatherland of peace” from 
the summit of a forest-clad mountain afar, but it was another thing 
to find the road there (vii. 21, 27). “I saw a way of gathering 
strength adequate to enjoy Thee, but I did not find it til 
I embraced the mediator between God and men, the man Christ 
Jesus” (vii. 18, 24). So far he only thought of Christ as a man 
of excellent and incomparable wisdom, one miraculously born of 
a virgin, to shew thereby that the temporal should be despised, 
and one who by his divine interest in us seemed to have merited 
the authority of a teacher (vii. 19, 25). The Divine Word he had 
found in the Neo-Platonic Intelligence, which was in the beginning 
with God, by which all things were made, which darkness could not 
comprehend, but the Incarnation and all it involved he had not 
found (vii. 9, 13). So, though the divine beauty attracted him 
upward, his own weight, the carnal habit, pulled him back (vu. 17, 
23). He began to read St Paul and found in him, as was not 
unlikely, a great deal of coincidence with Neo-Platonism, and some- 
thing of his own experience. “Ὁ miserable man that I am! who 
shall free me from the body of this death?” was an utterance of 


1 Conf. i. 12, 19. 

2 E.g. Conf. vii. 10, 16 admonitus redire ad memet ipsum intravi in intima 
mea, ix. 10, 23 venimus in mentes nostras et transcendimus eas. A fuller account 
of this is given in vii, 17, 23. Cf. Plotinus, Enn. iv. 8, 1. 


St Augustine's Confessions 213 


the heart, for which the Apostle had an answer, but hardly the 
Neo-Platonist (vii. 21, 27). . 

He was at last certain of God’s eternal and incorruptible essence, 
and longed now to be “not more certain of Thee but more stable in 
Thee” (viii. 1, 1). Yet though he had found the good pearl and 
should have sold all he had and bought it, he hesitated (viii. 1, 2). 
Tn fact, he found he did not want to break with the life he saw to 
be lower. The new will to live in God and enjoy Him was not 
strong enough to overcome the old and perverse will. From the 
perverse will had risen lust; from the service of lust came habit ; 
from the failure to resist habit, it had become necessity. Not only 
so, but he found he liked the necessity more than he had supposed. 
He wished to be saved from himself, but his prayer, if put honestly, 
would have been, “‘ Give me chastity and continence, but not now.” 
He was afraid his prayer should be quickly heard and he should be 
healed from his disease, which he wished to be sated rather than 
extinguished. He knew himself at last. His difficulty had not 
been so entirely intellectual as he had supposed ; it was really a 
moral failure. 

It was in the doctrine of the Incarnation that he at last found 
strength to rise above this conflict of wills, to break “the violence 
of habit.” ‘The Neo-Platonic God did not after all reveal himself ; 
he was remote and the series of emanations did not bring him 
nearer. The Word of the Neo-Platonists was not the Christian 
Word, but one emanation in a series of others, and it did not 
declare God’s inner being. If man wished to reach God, he had to 
do it for himself. The supreme God did not apparently care for 
the individual man, he did not really love man, he did not forgive 
sins nor give the power to rise above sin. But the Church, incul- 
cating a doctrine utterly repellent to heathen philosophy, preached 
the Incarnation and the Love of God. For the colourless and 
indefinable Absolute Being it set forth a God, who Himself cared 
for the individual (iii. 11, 9), loved him and gave His Son for him 
to the death of the cross (vii. 9, 14). The Church taught that in 
that Son God forgave sin and dissolved man’s hostility to Himself 
(v. 9, 16), and that to those who would receive that Son God gave 
the power to become the sons of God, through belief in His name 
(vii. 9, 13)’. 

1 He finally crystallizes the thought of the Christian’s dependence on God 


_ in the expression Da quod jubes et jube quod vis (x. 29, 40). It was this phrase 
which attracted the attention and criticism of Pelagius, thus leading to the 


214 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


To believe all this was a great tax on the philosophic mind, but 
here came in the authority of the Church with that of the Scriptures. 
It offered a doctrine without explanation, without reconciling it 
with current philosophy, and demanded its acceptance. Human 
pride might rebel, but in the long run the heart must make the 
- surrender, when after long “tossing in experiments” (nos volvimur 
in experimentis) it found nowhere else the power to overcome sin. 
The Church was thus the voucher for the Gospel as a result of its 
long years of experience. For so long as it had been in the world, 
it had uniformly. been solving the problem of holy living. It 
accounted for this by the doctrine of the Incarnation, which was 
to the philosophic thought of heathendom blasphemous and un- 
intelligible, inconsistent in a word with the whole trend of ancient 
philosophy and with all its conceptions of God. There was appar- 
ently no common basis for discussion, until experience was consulted. 
Augustine accepted the experience of the Church as confirmed by 
his own. He believed without understanding, and of course at once 
began anew to reconstruct his philosophy to accommodate his new 
experience. No wonder it lays so much stress on sin and grace. 

At the last it was the story of Antony that completed Augus- 
tine’s conversion. A tale of an unlettered Copt, triumphing by 
divine grace over evil in forms which Augustine had found irresist- 
ible, because attractive, this little book had stirred mankind, and 
the scholar saw how “the unlearned rise and seize heaven, while we 
with our learning without sense wallow in flesh and blood.” Torn 
this way and that, ashamed and aspiring, he heard from behind him 
the mutterings of the flesh, and before him he saw the Church, 
“serene and gay with an honest happiness,’ surrounded by pure 
men and pure women of every age. He seemed to hear the Church 
saying to him: ‘And can you not do what these do and these? 
Or do they do it of themselves and not in the Lord their God? 
The Lord their God gave them to me. Why do you stand in your- 
self—and yet do not stand? Cast yourself on Him; fear not, He 
will not withdraw Himself and let you fall. Cast yourself on Him 
without a care; He will receive you and heal you” (viii. 11, 27). 
As in great perturbation he lay under a tree in the garden, he heard 
a child crooning “ Tolle, lege ; tolle, lege.” We get an indication of 
the man’s temperament in the process of thought through which 


great controversy between Augustine and Pelagius. The strength of Augustine’s 
position in the controversy was that he had experience behind him and spoke 
from a knowledge of man’s nature and of sin, which Pelagius entirely lacked, 
while on the other hand he had proved the inadequacy of Pelagius’ theory. 
The doctrine of Grace follows naturally on the story unfolded in the Confessions. 


St Augustine's Confessions 215 


he at once went. ‘The words were unusual; he had never noticed 
a child’s game in which the refrain occurred, and the childish jingle 
impressed him the more. Not all men would have caught the words 
at such a time or have had Augustine’s store of observation of 
childhood’. He remembered then how Antony had found an oracle 
in a chance verse of Scripture, and he thereupon opened the epistles 
of Paul at a venture and lit on the words “ Not in riotings and 
drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and 
envying; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no pro- 
vision for the flesh in concupiscence” (Zomans xiii. 13, 14). He 
accepted this as a divine message to himself, and took the course 
the Church had seemed to urge and surrendered himself to God 
(viii. 12, 28---80). 

He very soon gave up his work at Milan, and withdrew for a 
while to a country house at Cassisiacum with a group of friends, 
including his mother and his son*. Apart from studies of Virgil 
and other literary subjects, their time was chielly occupied by 
discussions, which were taken down by a shorthand reporter, and 
are still extant. In these his language is not so avowedly Christian 
as in the Confessions, for he is still trying to couch the new thought 
in the old terms, but the new thought is there and if not yet fully 
developed it is still Christian. From Cassisiacum he returned to 
Milan and was there baptized by Ambrose at Easter (387). His 
mother had seen him “standing where she did,” and when shortly 
afterwards she died at Ostia she died content. 

Augustine’s return to Africa and the great work he did there as 
bishop of Hippo lie beyond our present concern. I have tried here 
to follow the course of Augustine’s thought up to his conversion, to 
the exclusion of nearly everything else. This is perhaps an injustice 
to the Confessions, which, as 1 said above, give a vivid picture of the 
external as well as the spiritual conditions of his life and are 
enriched by reflexions gathered from ten years of Christian experi- 
ence. ‘The sum of this experience is given in the first chapter, and 
is as it were the keynote of the book; “Thou hast made us for 
Thyself, and our heart is restless until it rest in Thee.” 

1 Similarly I feel there is something significant in the confession he makes 
that a lizard (stellio) catching flies, or a spider throwing its net round them, 
will absorb him (x. 35, 57). In quam multis minutissimis et contemptibilibus 

-rebus curiositas quotidie nostra tentatur? Everything however, as I said, 
points in one direction. Num quia parva sunt animalia ideo non res eadem 
geritur? Pergo inde ad laudandum te creatorem mirificum atque ordinatorem 


rerum omnium. 
2 The best account of the conversations at Cassisiacum is given by Boissier, 


op. cit. 


CHAPTER X 


CLAUDIAN 


We've drunk to our English brother 
(And we hope he'll understand). 
KIPLING 


Ir seems that both Virgil and Horate were invited to write a 
great epic on the deeds of Augustus, and both declined the task. 
Virgil, as we read in the third Georgic, thought of it, but he gave 
up the theme as unsuited to poetic treatment. Horace instead 
wrote the Emperor an epistle on literary criticism, though he would 
have preferred, he alleges, to have told of lands afar, of rivers, of 
tower-crowned peaks and barbarian realms, of wars waged the world 

2 

over, and of peace with honour thence resulting. Probably he 
would not, and his true reason was as in Virgil’s case the perception 
that the historian’s task and the poet’s are different. The poet's 
function is the interpretation of life and is ill fulfilled when he is 
fettered to historical narration, and especially ill when he is forced 
to play the panegyrist. And we may be sure that if Augustus 
asked for history, he wished for panegyric. 

But on one occasion Horace wrote as he was asked to write, and 
the first six odes of his third book were the result—a splendid 
series of poems dedicated to the reformation of Roman society. 
We find in them as it were incidentally the deification of Augustus, 
but the work owes little to Imperial direction, for it is the outcome 
of the poet’s life and thought. The minor interest, the Imperial 
purpose, sinks into its proper place and is lost in the genuine 
inspiration that the poet drew from sources beyond an Emperor’s 
sway. Virgil in the same way though with more enthusiasm 
introduces Augustus into his epic of the life of man, but the 
interest of the Aeneid does not lie in the foreshadowings of the 
Emperor, nor perhaps in the adventures of his forerunner and 
archetype, but in the poet’s treatment of human sorrow and human 
quest, of all that is heroic and pathetic in the common lot of all 


Claudian 217 


men. ‘Thus round the name of Augustus grew a literature, of 
which, whatever he may have thought, he is really not the centre. 
The patron may prompt, he may suggest and he may pay, but 
the poet creates, and there is hardly any relation between their 
activities. 

When a Virgil and a Horace found scant inspiration in Augustus, 
what could a poet find in an Emperor like Honorius? in a soldier, 
whether patriot or adventurer, like Stilicho? Yet the poetry of 
Claudian, flecked though it be by much that is unworthy, is still 
poetry. There is about it much to fascinate and charm the reader, 
who will take the trouble to learn the poet’s mind. Stilicho is after 
all not very interesting, a striking figure perhaps and a great man, 
but not so unique that Roman history cannot shew a score like him. 
As for Honorius, a more uninteresting character is hardly con- 
ceivable, unless it be his brother Arcadius, but perhaps even he 
is not such a complete nonentity’. ‘I'o discover the source of Clau- 
dian’s charm and the force which, in spite of Stilicho and Honorius, 
has made his work immortal, is the object of this essay. 

First, however, a word or two must be given to his own story. 
He suddenly appears a ripened poet in 395 and after nine years 
of great fertility as suddenly disappears in 404. Dismissing the 
question whether he is the Claudian of whom Evagrius speaks”, we 
find a certain reference to him in Apollinaris Sidonius’*. 

τόίρος Pelusiaco satus Canopo 

qui ferruginet toros mariti 

et Musa canit inferos superna.... 
Here, beside emphasizing what I cannot but feel to be his greatest 
work, the later poet confirms the Egyptian birth of Claudian, which 
is clear from one or two passages in his poems, passages in which it 
is hard not to find something of that affection for a distant birth- 
place which no prosperity in another land can quite overcome. 
Whatever be the real purpose of the Deprecatio, there is this note 
in the last lines :— 

Audiat haee commune solum longeque carinis 


nota Pharos, flentemque attollens gurgite vultum 
nostra gemat Nilus numerosis funera ripis*. 


1 Zosimus, y. 12, says Eutropius the eunuch owned Arcadius-as if he had 
been an ox, κυριεύων καθάπερ βοσκήματος. 

2 Hist. Eccles, i. 19, p. 274. 

3 ix. 271. Suidas, too, speaks of KXavdlavos ᾿Αλεξανδρεὺς ἐποποιὸς νεώτερος, a 
contemporary of Arcadius and Honorius. 

4 Minor Poems, 22 (39), 56—59. 


218 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Pharos, known afar of ships, and the Nile and Alexandria may 
seem strange substitutes for Sirmio or Mantua, but for Claudian 
they have the same power. Elsewhere in a little idyll on the Nile, 
he writes, 

Felix qui Pharias proscindit vomere terras', 


a line Virgilian in sound and sentiment I have dwelt on this 
Egyptian origin, for it gives added significance to his love of Rome. 
Neither Catullus nor Virgil was less a Roman for loving Sirmio and 
Mantua, nor was Claudian for remembering Pharos, 

His name, Claudius Claudianus, is hardly an index of his race. 
It need not imply Latin stock, for Ammianus was Greek and his 
name was Latin®. On the other hand Gaul was full of Celts with 
Greek names, Aetherius, Pelagius, Potamius, Evagrius, Euanthius. 
His extraordinary mastery of the Latin hexameter, which would 
have been remarkable at any date and seems a miracle in the days 
of Ausonius and Paulinus, has led some to suppose him the son of 
Latin speaking parents, and his father, it is suggested, may have 
been a government official in Egypt. But I doubt if this theory be 
necessary. St Augustine’ tells us of a man of his own day, who 
though a Syrian and bred to Greek rhetoric had become eventually 
a famous teacher of Latin eloquence, so brilliant that to him, though 
a stranger, Augustine dedicated his first work. Hierius’ writings, if 
he left any, have not reached us, but the most splendid Latin 
history after T'acitus was the work of the Greek soldier Ammianus. 

Whatever his origin, Claudian’s first attempts in poetry were in 
Greek, and it is debated whether the two extant fragments of a 
Greek War of the Giants be his. He treated the theme in an 
independent Latin poem and has more than one allusion to it 
beside. The Greek piece is not unworthy of these, but it opens 
questions into which I cannot here go. ‘The Greek epigrams 
attributed to him are slight and one implies acquaintance with 
Nonuus, every line being decorated with a borrowed plume. ‘They, 
too, may be dismissed, and we must content ourselves for the 
present with his own statement that he first wrote, or perhaps 
published, Latin poetry in the year of ‘Theodosius’ death and 
Probinus’ Consulship, 395 a.p. 


1 Minor Poems, 28 (47); Nilus 1. Another reminiscence is his account of 
the electric fish in 49 (46). 

* Apollonius of Tyana was very indignant to find Greeks decorating them- 
selves with Latin names—Lucullus and Fabricius for example. See Philostr. 
V. Apoll. iv. 5, and Apollonius’ 71st letter. 

3 Confessions, iv. 14. 


Claudian 219 


Romanos bibimus primum te consule fontes 
et Latiae accessit Graia Thalia togae’. 


He refers to his Panegyric on the brother consuls Probinus and 
Olybrius, which however has none of the marks of a first attempt. 
The beauty and purity of his diction and metre tell of long 
acquaintance with the greatest of the Latins, and M. Boissier may 
be right when he suggests that his youth, spent far from lands 
where Latin as the vulgar tongue had lost something of its earlier 
grace, may by throwing him back on the writers of the older days . 
have contributed to his mastery of the language of Virgil and 
Lucan. In the same way, he says, the French of the émigré, who 
returned from the solitudes of America, had the ring of the old 
literary style of the previous century’. 

He soon became one of the circle of Stilicho’s dependents, an 
event happy perhaps for his fortunes but lamentable for his genius. 
(Non enim uno modo sacrificatur transgressoribus angelis.) In 400 
he writes of having been away from Rome on his staff for some five 
years*. Possibly there is a rueful tone in his insistence on the 
self-denial of Stilicho, which makes his visits to the capital so rare 
and so short*. He had consolation however, for, apart from other 
rewards, which he must have received though he says little of them, 
a letter from Serena’, the wife of Stilicho, won him a bride, a lady 
of North Africa, presumably rich, for the letter served him instead 
of “herds and fields and a palace.” Whatever were the date of 
this marriage, he seems to have had throughout an interest in 
African affairs, which may imply some connexion with the country. 

In a society where Ausonius had passed for a poet, Claudian 
became more deservedly popular. He is in many ways a lively 
exponent of the views of the Roman nobility, political, social and 
religious. As early as 396, in the preface to his Panegyric on the 
Third Consulate of Honorius, he speaks of being in some sort 
delegated by mighty Rome to address the Emperor’. ‘Three years 
later, “Behold” he says to himself “the glory and majesty of the 
Roman Senate and the men in whom Gaul rejoices. In every land 

1 Minor Poems, 41 (42), 13. 

2 La Fin du Paganisme, ii. 238. 

3 Praef. Cons. Stil. iii. 

4 Cons. Stil. i. 116 adsiduus castris aderat, rarissimus urbi. 

5 Minor Poems, 31, 43 tua littera nobis | et pecus et segetes et domus ampla 


fuit. | Inflexit soceros. 
6 Praef. tii. Cons. Hon. 15: 


me quoque Pieriis temptatum saepius antris 
audet magna suo mittere Roma deo. 


220 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


I am heard and the ears of the world listen'.” In 402-3, in the 
preface to his Gothic War, he announces that his earlier triumphs 
have won him a statue of bronze, granted by the Emperor at the 
request of the Senate, so that he is at once read and seen in the 
midst of the forum*. The same honour was afterwards given to 
Sidonius Apollinaris. It may perhaps have meant less in Rome 
than it would in London, for we learn that in the fifth century, even 
after Alaric’s capture of the city, it could boast 3,785 bronze statues*. 
The inscription for Claudian’s statue may be found in the Corpus of 
Latin Inscriptions, and it does not fail in extravagant eulogy. 
Some doubt has been cast on this inscription and on the reliability 
of Pomponius Laetus who first copied it, but Orelli and Mommsen 
accept it, and Gesner gives the testimonies of two more scholars 
who saw it. It is now said to be at Naples‘ 

No poem of Claudian’s can be dated with any certainty later 
than the year 404, and after that date we know nothing whatever of 
him He may have retired to Africa, free, in virtue of his wife’s 
dowry, from the necessity of composition. Stilicho fell in 408, and 
by an ingenious combination of two of the minor poems a pretty 
legend has been created®. An epigram turning on Manlius Theo- 
dorus and an unnamed “man of Pharos,” who is identified with one 
Hadrianus, may be thus rendered :— 


Day and night will Theodore 

Snore and sleep and sleep and snore; 
Egypt’s son, the other way, 

Plunders sleepless night and day. 
Romans, your supplications make 

That this may sleep and that may wake®. 


A longer poem bears the title Deprecatio ad Hadrianum’ and it is 


1 Praef. Paneg. Manlio Theod. 7: 
culmina Romani majestatemque Senatus 
et, quibus exultat Gallia, cerne viros. 
omnibus audimur terris mundique per aures 
ibimus. 
2 Praef. B. Goth. 7: 
sed prior effigiem tribuit successus aenam, 
oraque patricius nostra dicavit honos ; 
adnuit hic princeps titulum poscente senatu... 
...legimur medio conspicimurque foro. 


3 See Gregorovius, History of the City of Rome in the Middle Ages (trans- 
lation), i. 79. 

4 I am indebted to Dr Hodgkin for this correction. 

5 See Gibbon, iv. 64, but compare Hodgkin, Italy and her Invaders?, i. 730. 

§ Minor Poems, 21 (80). 7 Minor Poems, 22 (39). 


Claudian 221 


thence supposed that on the death of Stilicho Hadrianus proceeded 
to avenge himself on the poet. But some manuscripts give ad 
Stilichonem for ad Hadrianum, which address, though obviously 
absurd, for Stilicho was not an Egyptian, leads one to suppose that 
both names are mere conjectures, the insertions of copyists. A 
good case may moreover be made for the view that the poem is not 
strictly serious. Another Deprecatio is clearly playful. Claudian 
(shall we say?) has criticized the poetry of a great man—well, 
Homer and Virgil are both criticized, but neither of them was a 
quaestor, so Claudian will henceforth applaud everything, and every 
line shall have its ‘sophos !’? 

Claudian is chiefly famous as a panegyrist, though for myself 
I feel that he has stronger claims to fame. Still among the Roman 
panegyrists he stands foremost. We have a number of panegyrics 
in prose addressed to various Emperors from Trajan to 'heodosius— 
works graceful in language and elegant in execution, but not 
literature. ‘They have a certain value for the historian in the facts 
they display or conceal, and for the student of Roman society in 
the light they cast on the relations of the ruler and the ruled, but 
no one, | imagine, would ever read them for pleasure. Adulation 
may be less unpleasant in verse than in prose (“the truest poetry 
is the most feigning”), but a poet who attaches a serious value to 
poetry is reluctant to hymn Augustus or any other monarch, 
Claudian had his reasons for doing it. And however it may have 
seemed to his first readers, to-day the mythical element in his 
poems lessens still further the risk of our assuming that everything 
he says is literally felt by him. As it is, there is far too much that 
to us seems utterly insincere: yet while no doubt much of it really 
is so, we must allow for the difference time has made. With the 
progress of centuries the divinity that hedges a king has grown less 
and less, but in Claudian’s day many factors tended to shroud the 
Emperor in a shining mist of glory. For three hundred years the 
Imperial tradition had grown stronger and stronger. Emperors 
might be madmen or savages, they might be set up and overthrown 
by armies or murdered by slaves, but none the less the sacred 
omnipotence of the Emperor became more and more an object of 
awe. Diocletian enhanced this by transforming the court and the 
monarch at once. ‘I'he Emperor became a Sultan, whose person 
was kept from the vulgar gaze, and the court a hierarchy of splendid 


1 Minor Poems, 23 (74). 


222 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


officials. The conception of sovereignty had been orientalized. 
The awful power and hardly less awful mystery of the Emperor may 
well have dazzled the mind of the subject, and perhaps it was really 
the world’s interest to keep up the illusion. There had been far 
too many insurrections. So Claudian may have felt more than we 
suppose, though, as I have said, there is much in his work that he 
could not have felt and much that he ought not to have felt. 

Let us take one or two of Claudian’s panegyrics for closer study, 
and first one not addressed to an Emperor. One of the greatest of 
Roman nobles, one of the wealthiest and most successful of them, 
was Petronius Probus. He is typical of many of the officials 
of his times, and Ammianus' gives an amusing account of him. 
“He was a man known to the Roman.world at once for his high 
birth, his influence and his enormous wealth, and throughout nearly 
the whole extent of that world he owned estates, whether justly or 
not is no matter for my poor judgment®...And just as the finny 
tribe driven from their native element cannot long breathe upon 
earth, so he would waste away if he held no prefecture.” In 373 he 
proved himself quite incapable of meeting a serious emergency at 
Sirmium and incurred the rage of Valentinian, but he recovered*; 
and outlasting Valentinian and his family, he was in 395 a man of 
such importance as to make Theodosius wish to attach him to his 
interests. Never before had the two consulships been held simul- 
taneously by brothers, not members of the reigning family, ‘but in 
395 Probinus and Olybrius, the sons of Probus, were consuls 
together. It was a great event and had to be celebrated‘. 

Claudian was able to offer something congenial to the occasion, 
and though he is hardly as explicit as Pindar in such matters, we 
may find his inspiration in his praise of Probus :—“ Not his to hide 
his wealth away in caves of night nor doom his riches to darkness; 
but more bounteous than the rain, it was his wont to enrich count- 
less throngs of men Nay, one could ever see his gifts streaming as 
from acloud ‘The nations swarmed to his house in throngs ; poor 
they entered, rich they came away. That lavish hand outdid the 


1 xxvii. 11. Probus was a Christian and was buried in St Peter’s, where his 
tomb stood till the fifteenth century when Pope Nicholas VY. removed it. Gibbon, 
iv. p. 73, n. 20; Seeck, Symm. p. civ. 

i “ay an secus non judicioli est nostri—a favourite phrase of his. (xxviii. 
, 14. 

3 See Amm. Mare. xxix. 6, 9, and xxx. 5, 4—10. 

4 Ausonius (Hp. 12=16) had volunteered to play Choerilus to Probus’ Alex- 
ander, and his verses may be said to have attained the standard he proposed. 
In all probability, however, he was dead by this time. 


Claudian 293 


streams of Spain in its flood of golden gifts.” The same thing is 
said about him by Ammianus, but there is a difference. Claudian 
does not mention the source of this river of gold, but we may gather 
from Ammianus that such streams rose in the provinces and con- 
tributed to the Empire’s decay. But we must not mar a splendid 
scene with such reflexions, for does not Theodosius say: ‘“ Under 
his rule we saw the western land rise with all her weary tribes to 
new life’” ? 

So much for Probus. Proba might be Modesty itself come from 
heaven, or Juno turning to Argos to receive gifts of incense; 
Greek and Latin records alike fail to shew her peer—in a word, she 
is a worthy wife for Probus. ‘The sexes strove to produce their 
best and behold! Probus and Proba, the perfection of each, and 
their sons alone outdo them. As the Roman matron of old made 
garments of wool, Proba prepares the trabea, the consular robe, for 
each of her consul-sons, ‘‘and shining vestments of the thread the 
Seres shave from the slender twigs, gathering the leafy fleeces of the 
wool-clad forest ”—in other words, of silk’. The frequent mention 
by Claudian of silk and of exquisite and elaborate embroidery is one 
indication of the change that has come over Roman taste in art and 
poetry. 

This, then, is the subject of the poem—to oblige a rich and 
noble place-hunter Theodosius makes his two sons consuls, not an 
event of any permanent import, for the consulship was an office 
involving much glory and no duties whatever, it was a mere 
courtesy title. What does Claudian make of it? When Theo- 
dosius had overcome Arbogast and Eugenius, Rome, personified as 
a goddess*, seizes the moment to shew her gratitude to Probus. 
Impetus and Panic yoke her winged chariot of war and she leaps on 
it habited like Minerva. “For she brooks not to bind her flowing 
hair with bands, nor wear on her neck the woman’s twisted chain. 


1 163. 2 177—204. 

8. Compare Amm. Mare. xxiii. 6, 67. ‘‘ Working the product of the trees with 
constant application of water, as it were fleeces of a sort, from the down and 
the moisture they comb out a substance of the most delicate fineness, and 
spinning this they make silk, for the use hitherto of nobles but nowadays of 
the meanest without any distinction.” Prudentius, Ham. 288, says much the 
same. Their common sources may be Virgil, Georgics, ii. 121, and Pliny, N. H. 
G, Ut. 

” 4 Claudian is fond of personifying Rome; cf. b. Gild. 16; vi. Cons. Hon. 
356, etc. The same is done by his contemporary Prudentius, adv. Symm. 
ii. 648, where Symmachus led the way. The Christian poet’s Rome is as 
complimentary to the Emperors, but has certain things to say of more im- 
portance. . 


924 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Her right side is bare, her snowy arms uncovered, and one bold 
breast appears; a gem holds fast her flowing garb, the knot that 
bears her sword shews gleaming purple on her white bosom. Valour 
and beauty meet, and fair modesty is armed with stern terror, and 
over her threatening helmet falls the tawny shade of blood-red 
plumes. Her shield with its dread light challenges the sun, that 
shield whereon Mulciber had shewn all his various art might do— 
here is set the paternal love of Mars, and Romulus and his brother; 
here the kindly river and the strange nurse ; the Tiber is wrought 
in amber and the boys in gold; the wolf is of brass and the gleaming 
Mars is adamant.” 

I have given this picture at length, for it is significant in many 
ways. ΤῸ his love of Rome I shall return, but for the moment I 
speak of his method. There is a notable difference between Virgil 
and Claudian in their view of poetry. Virgil’s method is that of 
suggestion ; it is that of appeal to the heart, and it requires some- 
thing from the reader, as music does from the listener. Claudian 
on the other hand leans more to painting than to music, appealing 
rather to the eye. Thus he lingers fondly over his work, seeking to 
bring before the eye the presentment of his conception by massing 
colour upon colour, making his picture splendid as one of Honorius’ 
toilets. The reader sees in Claudian’s case and feels in Virgil’s, 
Throughout, it would appear that the Roman’s weakness had been — 
to seek beauty through decoration, and Claudian is decorative as 


Virgil is not. Yet it must be understood that his hand is that ofa ὁ 


master. His standard is lower than Virgil’s, and his work must be 
judged from a different point of view. It is not equal to Virgil’s in 
execution, even allowing for difference of conception, but of its kind 
it is successful—that is, of course, when it is not injured (as this 
poem is) by the things for whose insertion his patrons paid him 
Rome then, in the poem, seeks Theodosius and finds him by 
the river Frigidus, resting after his victory. He addresses her as 
“kindly goddess, Mother of Laws, whose sway is wide as the sky, 
who art the Thunderer’s bride’,”’ and asks why she has come. She 
tells him of the two youths she has bred, peers of Decii and Metelli, 


1 Pan. Prob. Ol. 126: 
o numen amicum, 
dux ait, et legum genetrix longeque regendo 
circumfusa polo consors et dicta Tonantis. 


It is interesting to see throughout that Claudian’s pride in Rome rests on her 
laws and her eternity. So too Prudentius, c. Symm. i. 455 domitis leges ac jura 
dedisti gentibus. 


Claudian 225 © 


of Scipios and Camilli; learned and eloquent, and grave beyond 
their years, and asks that they may be consuls, “so may the 
Scythian Araxes own our rule, and the Rhine on either bank; so 
may the towers of Semiramis’, their Median defenders fallen, dread 
our standards ; so may Ganges in wonder flow on from Roman town 
to Roman town.” Theodosius consents, the city rejoices and Proba 
sets to work at her son’s finery. The poem closes with another 
picture. From the island in the Tiber, where stood a palace of the 
family, the river god himself watches the triumphal procession of 
the new consuls awhile in the silence of joy, and then he speaks. 
He challenges the Spartan Eurotas to shew such a pair of brothers, 
predicts a year of peace that recalls the promised bounties of 
Nature as foretold in some eclogue of Virgil, and summons all the 
rivers of Italy to rejoice with him. A few final lines follow, ad- 
dressed to the new year by the poet and laden with the delights of 
the several seasons, and the poem ends 


te variis scribent in floribus Horae 
longaque perpetui ducent in saecula fasti. 


All this divine machinery is set in motion—Rome, Theodosius 
and the Tiber all take action—for the sake of two obscure young 
nobles. Parturiunt montes. 

Take now the panegyric addressed to Honorius on his fourth 
consulship. This is a greater event surely, and yet a year later 
Synesius writes to a friend and, speaking of this date, says 
Aristaenetus was consul, “for I do not know who was his col- 
league’.” ‘The poet begins with the pomp of the consular procession, 
and passes thence to tell of Honorius’ family, of his grandfather 
Theodosius, who pitched his camp amid the frosts of Caledonia, and 
the Orkneys were drenched with Saxon blood and Thule was warm 
with Pictish gore, while glacial Ireland mourned heaps of Scottish 
slain*—of his father Theodosius, to whom the suppliant purple 
came‘, and who alone of men at once deserved and was invited to 
tule, of his wars against barbarian and tyrant, and of his victories, 


1 May we not compare ‘‘planting the banner of St George on the mountains 
of Rasselas”? 

2 Ep. 133. After 400 or so, one consul was named in the West, another in 
the East. But here is a proof of the division of the world. 

8. Compare Cons. Stil. ii. 247 for these three curses of Britain—Scot, Saxon 
and Pict. Populi bestiales Pictorum is long afterwards the phrase of Eddi, 
St Wilfrid’s biographer. 

4 Ultro se purpura supplex obtulit, 47. 


G. 15 


226 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


which taught men that there are gods and gods ready to help, 
praesentes docuere deos. (He does not say, however, that the last 
usurper Eugenius had pointedly favoured paganism, and that 
Theodosius’ victory was a crushing blow for the dei of the old 
religion.) They were victories, to win which was to prove the 
existence of divine justice ; and the use Theodosius made of them 
was blessing to the conquered—profwit hoc vincente capi'—love and 
loyalty sprang up in response. “Glorious in such lineage wast 
thou born, at once into life and majesty, no stain of private station 
upon thee....Thy mother laid her down on gold; with gems bedight 
she brought thee forth on a bed of Tyrian dye?; it was a palace 
that shrilled with the cries of august childbed......One day gave 
thee life and gave thee empire; a consul in thy cradle, the year. 
that bore thee bears thy name.” ; 

So after a babyhood of greatness we come to Theodosius’ advice 
to his son, a passage of great interest. It can hardly be supposed 
that Claudian was favoured with the confidence of Theodosius, and 
Honorius, a dull boy of fourteen, was not likely to have remembered 
the long speech his father is said to have delivered. We must give 
the credit to the poet for a lesson “that might,’ says Gibbon, 
“compose a fine institution for the future prince of a great and free 
nation. It was far above Honorius and his degenerate subjects*.” 
It may seem strange that the poet should use such freedom, yet 
contemporary parallels may be found. Julian wrote two Greek 
panegyrics on Constantius, in which he set forth views on true 
kingliness very like Claudian’s. Synesius addressed some advice 
to Arcadius on the right policy for the empire at the moment, 
which of course was not taken. His speech too shews a number of 
points of contact with Claudian’s work. It is not to be supposed 
that these men have influenced each other, but rather that all three 
are presenting anew the results of philosophic or quasi-philosophie 
speculation on monarchy gathered from the past. Much of their 
exhortations is inapplicable to the ruler of so large a state. 
Claudian is perhaps after all the most practical of the three for 
once. He shewed considerable delicacy and tact in putting his 
advice into Theodosius’ lips. Elsewhere too he has preferred this 
indirect method. 


1 A line Rutilius seems to have imitated or recollected, when in addressing 
Rome he says of the conquered peoples profuit invitis te dominante capi (i. 64). 

2 Cf. Synesius, de Regno, 11 a, quoted on p. 326. 

3 Gibbon, iv, 22, 


Claudian 227 


Much of the passage, it may be said, recalls the platitudes of 
Polonius, yet these parts no less than the rest have their value. 
Under all the sycophancy of the age there still lived something of 
Roman dignity, and the Roman character of the Empire is more 
than once quietly emphasized’. 

“Tf the tiara of the Persian rose on thy brow, thy high birth 
were enough for thee ; but far other is the lot of the rulers of the 
Roman court. On worth, not birth, must thou lean, worth that is 
mightier and more useful linked to a mighty destiny. Learn thou 
then for mankind what each must learn for himself. Prometheus 
formed man’s nature of three elements, one divine (mens)’, the 
others mortal, and they are ever at strife, and man’s work is to keep 
them in harmony. Rule far and wide through farthest India ; let 
the Mede, let the soft Arab, let the Seres (Chinese) adore thee; if 
thou fear, if thou cherish base desire, if thou art led by anger, thou 
art ἃ slave*. Thou canst not be lawful ruler of the world till thou 
art monarch of thyself‘. Think not of what is lawful, but of what 
will be becoming, and let the thought of honour reign in thy heart. 
Remember thou dost live before the gaze of the whole earth, thy 
deeds lie open to all men, for the fierce light that beats upon a 
throne suffers naught to remain hidden (nam lux altissima fati 
occultum nihil esse sinit); rumour enters every secret place and lays 
bare the inmost corner. Above all things be kind (piws), for while 
in all else we are outdone, clemency of itself makes us equal to the 
gods. Be not suspicious, nor false to thy friends, nor greedy of 
praise. Not men at arms, nor a hedge of spears, are such a rampart 
as love®. Dost thou not see how all this fair universe itself is held 
together of love, and the elements unbound of force conspire to- 
gether for ever®? Do thou play the citizen’s part and the father’s ; 
love thyself last (tw consule cunctis non tibi)’; be thy prayers for 
the State and not thyself. First do thyself what thou biddest 


1 iv. Cons. Hon. 218. 351. I have condensed the passage. 

2 Cf. Synesius, de Regno, 6 B, νοῦς to be king, and all within ἀστασίαστον 
διάγειν, ete. 

8 Syn. Regn. 6 ὀχλοκρατία τῶν παθῶν. Boethius too (Cons. Phil. iv. m. 2) 
has a little poem on this. 

4 Syn. Regn. 6 ἑαυτοῦ βασιλεύειν. Cf. Dio Chrys. de Regno, Or. i, 14. 

5 Syn. Regn. 9 καὶ ris éxvporépa βασιλεία τῆς ἔρωτι τετειχισμένης ; 148 εὔνοια... 
βασιλέως ἐστὶν ἰσχυρὸν φυλακτήριον. Julian, Or. i. 48 A εὔνοιαν.. .τῷ βασιλεύοντι 
ἐρυμάτων ἀσφαλέστατον. Dio Chrys. Or.i.3 τίς δὲ φρουρά κτὲ...κρείττω τῆς ἀπὸ τῶν 
εὐνοούντων φυλακῆς; , 

§ Boethius, Cons. Phil. ii. m, 8, 18 hanc rerum seriem ligat | terras ac pelagus 
regens | et caelo imperitans amor; and iv. m. 6. 

7 Syn. Regn. 14. The king to be λειτουργὸν τῆς βασιλείας. Cf. Dio Chrys. 
Or. iii. 55, 56, 62. 


15--2 


228 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


others ; the people will hearken when they see the ruler obey him- 
self, for the world forms itself after the pattern of its king and 
naught moulds it so much as his life’. No scorn, no pride; I have 
not given thee Sabaeans long taught to be slaves; I have not made 
thee lord of Armenia, nor do I yield thee the Assyrian race, ruled 
by a woman. Romans, who long have ruled the world, hast thou to 
rule*, Romans, who brooked not Tarquin’s pride nor Czsar’s laws 
(jura). Long will the glory of Trajan live, not by his conquests, 
but because he was kind to his own country.” 

Instructions somewhat in the style of Nestor follow on war, but 
when the lad asks to accompany his father on his march against 
Eugenius, he is bidden stay at home and read history, and a list of 
thirteen great examples is given him. 

Claudian now calls on Theodosius, who had risen to heaven to 
become a star, to look down and see his hopes for his son fulfilled, 
thanks to Stilicho, for Stilicho is almost inevitable whatever the 
subject. He gives a list of Stilicho’s German triumphs and then 
turns to the Greek campaign of 396, and here we may well pause 
to consider another aspect of Claudian’s poetry—the defence of 
Stilicho. 

The story of the Greek campaign may be thus summarized. In 
395 Alaric was laying waste Thrace and Macedonia, and Arcadius 
summoned Stilicho to protect Constantinople and the East. Almost 
as soon as Stilicho reached Thessaly, he was bidden to return with 
the western troops, but to send back to their proper headquarters the 
eastern forces which Theodosius had led westward against Eugenius. 
He obeyed. Alaric unhampered marched into Greece and ravaged 
the country, but Stilicho reappeared and blockaded him on the 
plain of Pholoe (396). And then, already at Stilicho’s mercy, he 
escaped, went on plundering and was bought off by the govern- 
ment of Constantinople with the military command of Illyricum. 

Two great questions arise. How came Stilicho so readily to 
obey the order to return to Italy? How came Alaric to escape 
from Pholoe? The same happened again at Pollentia in 402. On 
the answer to these questions depends our estimate of Stilicho. 
Zosimus (vy. 7) says he was so busy with dissipation that Alaric 
eluded him at Pholoe. “I say nothing,” writes Orosius*, “of King 
Alaric with his Goths, often conquered, often hemmed in, and 


1 Julian, Or. ii. 88 © ἐξομοιούσθαι πρὸς τὸν ἄρχοντα τὰ τῶν ὑπηκόων. 
2 Tacitus puts a similar sentence in Galba’s mouth, Hist. i. 16. 
3 Orosius, vii. 37, 2 saepe victo saepe concluso semperque dimisso. 


Claudian 229 


always allowed to escape.” Heathen’ and Christian alike seem to 
have mistrusted him, and the controversy about Pholoe and 
Pollentia has lasted to our day, Dr Hodgkin acquitting him? and 
Mr Bury bringing him in guilty. 

But our concern is with Claudian. These are the facts to be 
explained for his patron; what does Claudian do? Gibbon* charac- 
terizes his account as “curious circumstantial flattery”; ‘as the 
event was not glorious it is artfully thrown into the shade.” Mr 
Bury* commits himself and calls it “an absolutely false and mis- 
leading account, which no allowance for poetical exaggeration can 
defend.” ‘The act of obedience is glorified with a fine phrase’. The 
Greek affairs he alludes to once or twice, always rapidly and without 
condescending to particulars, once hinting at a supposed treaty 
made from Constantinople. ‘To Pollentia he gives more space, and a 
vast flood of declamation about historical parallels, which are not 
parallel, covers or tries to cover the fact that, for whatever reason, 
Alaric had not been crushed. One seems to see that there was 
hostile criticism in Rome, which the poet is trying to silence by 
special pleading. Mr Bury holds that on this and on other oc- 
casions the utterances of Claudian were direct manifestoes suggested 
by his patron, while M. Boissier® shrewdly doubts whether Stilicho 
always meant quite so much to be said as is said. Men thought 
Stilicho wanted to make his son Eucherius Emperor, beginning by 
marrying him to Honorius’ sister’. Now Claudian says nothing 
about the ultimate design, but he does hint at the possible marriage. 
The union never took place, and M. Boissier thinks that Claudian 
has here exceeded his instructions. 

To return to our poem. The Greek affair is vaguely got rid of 
in fourteen lines, and we resume the blessings of Honorius’ reign, 
which are very significant. If the recommendations we have seen 
addressed to him seem to hint at the violence of Valentinian, the 
uneasy suspicion of Valens and the savage temper of Theodosius, 
what are we to say when we read this? ‘“ We are ruled by judges 

1 The most ferocious attack is made by Rutilius (ii. 41 f.), who accuses 
Stilicho of burning the Sibylline books, and calls him worse than Nero: hic 
immortalem mortalem perculit ille, | hic mundi matrem perculit ille suam. 

2 Perhaps a Scots verdict of ‘‘Not proven” is nearer Dr Hodgkin’s view. 
_ Can it be his troops would not push their kinsmen on the other side to extremi- 
ties? Cf. Syn. Regn. 14. 

3 iv. 27 n. 

41. R. E. i. 74. 

5 In Ruf. ii. 249 non est victoria tanti ut videar vicisse mihi. 


Oe Pats tee. 
7 Orosius says this and the idea probably did not originate with him. 


230 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


we know, and enjoy the blessings of peace and of war. No sword 
hangs over us; there are no butcheries of the nobility ; no accusa- 
tions are forged against the common folk; the exile is not thrust in 
sadness from his native land; the wicked additions to continuous 
taxation cease. Thy treasury does not grow rich on the losses of 
thy subjects'’.’ Yet how like his father the Emperor grows! 
Quantus in ore pater radiat! He can wear his father’s helmet 
(jam patrias imples galeas) and is very athletic and warlike. . 
Historians have remarked that later on he forsook riding for feeding 
poultry, and life through had a profound sense of the value of the 
sacred life of an Emperor. The poem closes with pomp, procession 
and splendour’, with a brilliant spectacle and a prophecy of an 
extended frontier. 

What does the poet mean by this poem? He means no doubt 
to flatter the Emperor and defend Stilicho, fur doing which he was 
paid; but when he glorifies Rome’s victories over the Goths, when 
he magnifies the true Roman character in language that should 
remind his readers of their great past, of a day when the Roman 
faced and overthrew greater foes than Alaric, is he not doing more ? 
And does he not so atone for his hireling work and rise into real 
significance ? 

Beside panegyrics and panegyrical histories Claudian wrote in- 
vectives. ‘These were directed against the two successive ministers 
of Arcadius, Rufinus and the eunuch Eutropius, the enemies of 
Stilicho and therefore of the true Rome on the Tiber. The world 
was too happy, and a council in Hell was called to deal with the 
matter. Various plans were discussed, but on the proposal of 
Megaera (rhetorically described) it was decided not to make war on 
heaven, but to send among men Rufinus, a nursling of the Fury, so 
well trained by her that he can outdo her in her own arts. She 
hailed him from his native Elusa in Aquitaine to Constantinople, 
where, insatiate as the sea, by extortion of every kind he amassed 
infinite riches. Here let me leave Claudian to quote Zosimus, who, 
while confirming his story, makes an interesting addition: ‘“ Every 
kind of villainy throve in the cities, and all the wealth of all the 


1 1. 491 ff. 

* «Royalty, followed by the imperial presence of ambassadors, and escorted 
by a group of dazzling duchesses and paladins of high degree, was ushered with 
courteous pomp by the host and hostess into a choice saloon, hung with rose- 
coloured tapestry and illuminated by chandeliers of crystal, where they were 
served from gold plate.” There is more than a little common to Claudian and 
the author of Lothair. 


Claudian 231 


world flowed into the houses of Rufinus and Stilicho, while poverty 
in every place invaded the houses of those who had but lately been 
rich, Yet the Emperors saw nothing of what was going on, but 
only decreed whatever Rufinus bade and Stilicho’.” 

Rufinus of course came to a bad end. It was believed he had 
inspired the order which sent Stilicho so precipitately home in 395. 
Stilicho’s speech to his soldiers on that occasion is well done by 
Claudian— 

Jlectite signa duces. redeat jam miles eous. 


parendum est. taceant litut, prohibete sagittas. 
parecite contiguo—Rufinus praecipit—hostr?. 


The eastern troops bade Stilicho farewell after the manner of Lucan, 
marched off, were reviewed by Arcadius and concluded the review 
by tearing Rufinus in pieces. “he dissection of Rufinus, which 
Claudian performs with the savage coolness of an anatomist*,” may 
be paralleled by some of the martyrdoms of Prudentius. Detail is 
not spared. It was horrible and it permitted a list of members, and 
both of these features lent themselves to rhetoric. Such was the 
evil legacy of Lucan and his school*. 

The irony, the rhetoric and the swing of this poem impress 
every reader, but there are other points of interest in it. It begins 
with a debate as to whether or no there is evidence for believing in 
Providence’, “For when I saw the laws of the ordered universe, 
bounds fixed for the seas and paths for the rivers, the alternation of 
light and darkness, then I inclined to think that all is decreed by 
the council of God, who has bid the stars move by rule, the crops 
grow in their seasons, Phoebe in her changes shine with the borrowed 
light and the Sun with his own, who has set shores for the waves 
and poised the earth in mid air. But when I saw mankind wrapped 
in such darkness, the guilty long enjoying gladness, and the good 
afflicted, religion in its turn was shaken and like to fall.” The 
punishment of Rufinus however, he continues, has settled his doubts 
for ever. In the same way Synesius demonstrates at greater length 
the truth of an effective Providence by his “Egyptian story” of 
Aurelian and Gainas’ revolt, and actually says that the rule of 
“'yphos” had driven belief in Providence from the minds of men’. 


cis ct ὃ 2 In Ruf. ii. 217, 

3 Gibbon, iv. 13. It is not an invention of Claudian’s. Cf. Zosimus, v. 7. 
4 Quintilian, x. 1, 90 Lucanus...magis oratoribus quam poetis imitandus. 

5 An exordium pronounced beautiful by Gibbon, vol. iv. p. 14, n. 33. 

8 See esp. de Prov, ii. 1 ἤδη τῆς ἀνθρώπων γνώμης ἐξερρύηκε δόξα προνοίας. 


232 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


The descent of Rufinus into hell, at the close of the second book, 
is drawn with vigour. The ghosts of his victims swarm about him 
like the wild bees round the shepherd who is robbing their nest. 
It is a hell where the distinctions of earth are lost, no dignity 
survives and the king stripped of his empty title rubs shoulders 
with the beggar. The guilty are condemned to bear the forms of 
beasts for three thousand years, but Rufinus is too bad for hell. 
“Cleanse the home of Pluto. Whip him across Styx, across 
Erebus; give him to the void abyss, below the night of the Titans, 
below the furthest Tartarus, below Chaos itself, where lie hid the 
foundations of Night: there, plunged headlong, let him pant, while 
the stars wheel through heaven and the winds lash the shores of 
the sea’.” 

The invective against Eutropius, the-eunuch made consul, is in 
much the same style—the tone very often recalling Juvenal— 


omnia cesserunt eunucho consule monstra. 


This old slave, set free because worthless—contemptu jam liber erat 
—his aides-de-camp, the fuller and the cook, his council of war, 
eaters of peacocks and parrots, and the Senate of New Rome, the 
“Greek Quirites,” who fondle and kiss the creased cheeks of the 
“old woman,” are all drawn with the perfection of hatred and of 
skill. 

Once more we have an indirect contribution to Imperial policy 
in the words of the Fury to Tribigild, urging him to imitate Alaric: 
“To-day, who breaks treaties, is enriched; who keeps them is a 
beggar. He, who laid waste Achaea and but lately ravaged Epirus 
unavenged, rules Illyricum...Thee too let them fear; let them 
admire thee guilty, whom they have spurned while loyal. Sated 
with spoils and prey, when it is thy pleasure thou shalt be a 
Roman” (ii. 213). 

This was a criticism of the helpless government, not undeserved 
and certainly well and guardedly delivered. Claudian however as a 
statesman was as ineffectual as Synesius, and his homilies and his 
ironies despite his art achieved nothing. But I need not linger 
over the poem, as I think its general character will be clear. 

Here let me pause before discussing matters of deeper interest to 
consider Claudian’s style and manner. Something of his spirit may, 
I hope, have survived translation in the passages I have quoted. 


1 Thus in Syn. de Prov. ii. 3, 1269 c, Typhos is to be ἐν Kwxur@ as a παλα- 
μναῖον καὶ Taprdpioy δαίμονα along with the Titans and Giants. 


Claudian 233 


His handling of the hexameter is brilliant and powerful, in some 
points very different from Virgil’s, but different too from Lucan’s. 
He avoids with a curious sensitiveness those minor licenses Virgil 
uses’; and though he goes further than Lucan in his use of the 
hephthemimeral pause, on the whole his verse is not so monotonous, 
though rhetorical. 

His debt to earlier poets is great and manifold. Words, phrases 
and ideas are often borrowed, and very often manner. Yet his 
indebtedness does not affect his independence. As an example of 
Lucan’s manner one citation will suffice. He is speaking of Rufinus’ 
mutilation— 


jacet en! qui possidet orbem 
exiguae telluris inops et pulvere raro 
per partes tegitur nusqguam totiensque sepultus*. 


Of Juvenal’s, 


exterret.cunabula discolor infans*. 


The opinion has been held that his use of Virgil is different from 
that made by Prudentius, and in some respects this is true. He 
never, for example, approaches such annexation as 


Christe graves hominum semper miserate labores*, 


but his language constantly recalls Virgil in word and phrase and 
rhythm’. 


1 A few details may be given. Spondaic hexameters, 5; Leonine, 6; double 
disyllabic ending, 6; double monosyllabic ending, 7; monosyllabic ending, 4; 
quadrisyllabic ending, 5; hiatus, 1 (hew whi); irregular quantities, 2 (hic and 
conubiale); rhyming couplets, 1;—a very short list for some seven or eight 
thousand lines. The spurious poems attributed to him may be condemned 
at a glance for their false quantities and roughness. How they came to be 
called Claudian’s I cannot understand. One further small point may be 
mentioned in this connexion. A heavy ending of a particular type—the pen- 
- ultimate word four long syllables and one short—is much affected by him. 
The form tempestatumque potentem occurs some twelve times in the Aeneid, 
perhaps oftener but not very much oftener. It is not much used by Lucan. 
I have counted ninety-eight examples in Claudian. I believe it is due to the 
influence of rhetoric, though the long roll of the movement is better fitted 
for prose. 

2 Ruf. ii. 452. For a passage inspired by Lucan, see the story of the 
‘Thundering Legion” in vi, Cons. Hon. 335—350. 

3 B. Gildon, 193. 

4 Prud. Psych. 1. Cf. Aen. vi.-56. 

5 A short passage may shew how much he can borrow. In the poem on the 
War of Gildo the two Theodosii leave heaven to visit the dreams of Arcadius 
and Honorius and the passage shews Claudian’s study of the Aeneid, particularly 
(here) of the fifth book. A table will make this clear. 

306 dum vita maneret. Aen. v. 724 dum vita manebat. 
309 respice fratris conubium. Aen. iv. 275 spes surgentis Iuli respice. 


234 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


While many of these coincidences may seem accidental, and 
some the inevitable diction of the epic poet, still it is clear that 
Claudian has assimilated Virgil. If likeness of form be not enough, 
clear kinship is shewn by such passages as the hell of Jn Rufinum 
ii. and the sixth Aeneid, and by the treatment of country life. 
Still it may, I think, be admitted that in tone he is nearer Lucan or 
Juvenal. 

He can never resist the opportunity to make a list, and on 
several occasions he digresses into strange paths of geography— 
e.g., the situation, boundaries and aspect of Phrygia (Jn Hutrop. ii. 
238—273), of Sicily (2. P. i. 142—178), of the prefectures of the 
Gauls and of Italy (Paneg. Manl. Theod. 41—57 and 198—204). 
Even his list of the forces sent against Gildo is not as bad as 
Lucan’s list of Pompey’s legions (Phars- vii.). Other lists are :— 
Thirteen Roman worthies (iv. Cons. Hon. 400), the philosophical 
schools (Paneg. M. Theod. 70—83), Victory’s five possible abodes 
in heaven (Cons. Stil. iii, 202), and many more. 

He is apt to fall into exaggeration and other forms of false taste. 
Venus addresses Maria, the daughter of Stilicho and the wife of 
Honorius, and, after specific mention of nine several charms, con- 
cludes, “‘If Bacchus in love could adorn heaven with his bride’s 
wreath, why are there no stars for a garland for a fairer maid? 
Nay, already Bootes frames thee starry crowns, and for Maria’s 
honour heaven brings forth new constellations'.” Theodosius 
addresses his last words to Stilicho, commending to him the young 
Honorius ; “then with no further word, even as he was, he left a 
path of light upon the clouds and entered the orb of the Moon,” 


315 ille licet (beginning a line). Aen, xi. 440 (the same). 
315 praetentis Syrtibus. Aen. vi. 60 praetentaque Syrtibus arva. 
318-9 in omnes aequalem casus animum. Aen. ix. 277 comitem casus complector 
in omnes. 

320 inveniet virtute viam. Aen. x. 113 fata viam invenient. 
323-4 commissa profanus ille luet. Georg. iv. 454 magna luis commissa. 
325 longo...sermone. Aen. i, 217 longo...sermone. 
326 castumque cubile. Aen. viii. 412 castum servare cubile. 
327 Tyrio...ostro. Georg. iii. 17 Tyrio...ostro. 
328 carpebat...somnos. — Aen. vii. 414 carpebat nocte quietem. 
329 per somnia, a ghost speaks. Aen. Vv. 636 per somnum. 
330 tantane...fiducia (also ὃ. Get. 380). Aen. i. 132 tantane..jfiducia. 
331 care nepos. Aen, vi. 682 carosque nepotes, 

i and the ghost vanishes in the Virgilian style. 
348 adjlatus vicino sole refugit. Aen. ν. 739 me saevus equis Oriens ad- 


flavit anhelis. 
Add a number of single words used in Virgil’s way 321 ultro, 326 fusus (of 
sleep). 
1 Epithalamium, 271. 


Claudian 235 


and so on his way past star after star, each quarter of heaven 
contending for the honour of his presence—‘“ O glory of the sky as 
once of earth, thee thine Ocean welcomes when weary to thy native 
flood, and Spain doth bathe thee in the waves thou knowest so 
well’.”. When Honorius hunts, “gladly will the beasts fall to thy 
spear, and the lion rejoicing in his sacred wounds will welcome the 
shaft, prouder in his death®.”. When Honorius marries Maria, the 
poet says to Stilicho, ‘‘ More, even more, we all admit we owe to our 
lord, that he is thy son-in-law, unconquered hero*!” Some of his 
utterances on the same marriage pass belief. Again, when, at a 
length of 130 lines, he sets Diana and her nymphs to collect wild 
beasts (elephants it seems excepted) to be shipped to Rome for 
Stilicho’s triumph*, one feels to-day a certain disproportion between 
means and end. Still there is a value in the passage as shewing the 
mind of the time, attested likewise by Prudentius. Lastly, when 
Aethon, the steed of Aurora who (quz) puts the stars to flight, longs 
to be ridden by Honorius®, one feels that Lucan’s famous appeal to 
Nero not to overbalance the universe when he takes his seat among 
the gods, has been very nearly equalled. 

On the other hand his descriptions are strong and his pictures 
striking. His similes (some ninety-seven in number) are often 
happy. Rufinus, among the soldiers, “shut in on right and left, 
stood spell-bound by the shouts of the armed ring around him, even 
as a wild beast, that has but lately lost its mountain home, an 
exile from the towering forests, and condemned to the games of the 
arena, bounds wildly in. The man shouts to it and awaits with 
poised spear. But the beast trembles at the din, and head in air 
looks round upon the benches of the amphitheatre and marvels at 
the hissing of the throng’.” Another interesting simile describes 
Alaric after Pollentia; ‘“‘even as a pirate bark, that has long 
cruised the seas and laid waste the ships, falls full of guilty wealth 
upon a great trireme of war, which she has mistaken for a prey ; 
and oarless, her wings of canvas torn, her helm and rigging broken, 
she is tossed by wind and wave the plaything of the sea, till at last 
she pay her penalty to the deep she has wronged’.” Alaric, deserted 


1 δῖ, Cons. Hon. 162,175. A magnificent way of saying the star sets in the 
West. Theodosius was a Spaniard. Dr Hodgkin should be read on this. 

2 Fescen, i. 13. The lion reminds one of the wounded pigeon in Lothair 
that fluttered over a paling from a terrier, that it might die by a ducal hand. 

3 Epithal, 335, 4 Cons. Stil. iii. 237—369. 

5 iv, Cons. Hon. 561. 6 Ruf. ii. 394. 

7 vi. Cons. Hon. 132. : 


286 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


by some of his Goths, is compared to an old man of Hybla, whose 
bees have swarmed ; he clangs cymbals all in vain, and, wearied by 
the bootless noise, gives over and laments the faithless swarms and 
empty hives’. Again, in view of the story of the Rape of Proser- 
pine, there is an impressiveness in the simile of the path of Venus. 
“The path shone as the goddess trod, even as a comet of dire augury 
crosses the heaven in fire and blood, ruddy with ominous import ; 
the mariner sees it to his sorrow, and the folk to their hurt, for the 
menace of its streaming light speaks of storm for ships and foemen 
for cities.” Another simile, no new one, tells of the starry sky, 
where the moon outshines the stars, but an added touch makes it 
new. The point turns on brightness, but the poet adds the silence 
of night. 
tacitam Luna regnante per aethram. 


It is clear that a poet, whatever he be told or paid to write, can 
write nothing of any value that does not come from the heart— 
denn es muss von Herzen gehen, was auf Herzen wirken soll—what- 
ever moreover the subject assigned him, he will write what he must 
write. ‘The poet, like the Hebrew prophet, has a burden, be can do 
nothing but what is given him. It has nothing to do with 
patronage. In the poetry of Claudian we find two noble concep- 
tions, overlaid and marred, it is true, in some measure by uninspired 
work, by rhetoric and adulation, yet noble still—the eternal 
grandeur of Rome and the beauty and sufliciency of the old 
religion. Both of these call for study. 

To begin with Rome. In the brilliant apologetic of Tertullian 
and the sober homilies of Afrahat we find the opinion, that Rome 
is to last as long as the world lasts. But as yet to Christians 
Rome was not an object of love; they had not seen beyond the 
“scarlet woman” the majestic queen of the Church. It was the 
heathen who at this time felt for her the passionate enthusiasm of 
the Christian of the middle ages, though already a Prudentius has 
visions of a Christian Rome, and the pilgrims cross the bridge of 
Hadrian*. ΤῸ the heathen, however, she was dear not so much for 
what she was to be as for what she was and had been. The associa- 
tions of ten centuries were about her; the wealth, the culture, the 


1 vi. Cons. Hon. 259. 

2 Boissier, F. P. ii. 253, remarks that Claudian and his friends, by main- 
taining the imperial destiny and sacred character of Rome, were really con- 
tributing to the growth of a papal Rome. I feel however that their influence 
may easily be over-estimated. 


Claudian 237 


art and the faith of the world had gathered to her. She summed 
up the history of mankind. She had been and was still ‘“ mother 
of laws” and giver of peace. Justice between man and man and 
amity between nations were her gifts to the world, and her visible 
splendour and prosperity were the seal of the world’s happiness. 
She was the chosen city of the gods; god after god had forsaken his 
native home for Rome, had brought his people under her sway and 
made it clear that Rome and heaven stood together. And now a 
new faith had risen, and the first Emperor to forsake the old gods 
had also forsaken the old Rome, and had made at once a new 
heaven and a new earth, a new heaven that knew not the gods of 
his fathers, and a new Rome that flouted the old. The cause a 
man loves he loves the more when it is attacked. So the heathen 
loved Rome the more for the menace of Christian Constantinople, 
and in Claudian’s poetry we read this love. Honorius is the 
_ Emperor of the true Rome (though alas! he did indeed live at 
Ravenna); he had begged Rome of his father rather than Constan- 
tinople, says Claudian. Stilicho was the saviour of Rome. Thus 
the extravagant eulogy of these men means more than might appear 
at first sight. The pageantry and pomp he delights to describe are 
Rome’s, they are the symbols of her greatness. 

Let us take as our starting-point the greatest word spoken in 
Stilicho’s praise : 

nihil in tanto circum terrore locutus 
indignum Latio}. 


“ Amid all the terror that stood around he said no word unworthy 
of Latium ”—this was written by an Alexandrian Greek and written 
of a Vandal. ‘The situation was very different, but the spirit is that 
of the men who thanked the defeated Varro that he had not 
despaired of the Republic. 

“ Look,” he cries to Stilicho, ‘look around upon the seven hills, 
that challenge the sun’s rays with their gleam of gold, upon the 
arches hung with spoils, upon the temples that tower to the clouds 
and all the fabric of so many triumphs. What thou hast wrought, 
what a city thou hast saved, measure thou with eyes of wonder’.”’ 
The seat of the Empire is as peerless as itself. 

When Stilicho had won the victory of Pollentia and Alaric at all 
events withdrew, Claudian apostrophizes Rome. “ Rise, venerable 


1 Cons. Stil. i, 294. 2 Cons. Stil. iii. 65. 


238 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


mother, and free from care trust the favour of the gods. Away 
with craven fears of old age. City eternal as the sky, iron fate 
shall touch thee then and only then, when nature makes new laws 
for the stars’.” Into the lips of a Gothic counsellor of Alaric, he 
puts the words: “If it be truth our fathers tell, none who was so 
mad as to attack this city in war, returned triumphant in his guilt. 
The gods fail not their home; thunderbolts, men say, are hurled on 
the foe afar, and the fires of heaven guard the walls, whether it be 
the gods or Rome herself that thunders.” The poem closes with 
the words posterity shall read at Pollentia. ‘Here laid in Italian 
soil are the Cimbri and the valiant Goths, slain by the great 
captains Stilicho and Marius. Learn, foolish peoples, not to 
despise Rome.” 

From the city we pass to the Empire 


tanto quaesitum sanguine, tanto 
servatum, quod mille ducum peperere labores, 
quod tantis Romana manus conteruit annis*. 


These are the words of a “ provincial,” of one of the conquered 
perhaps. What did the Empire mean to him? There is in the 
third book of Stilicho’s Consulship a passage which, in spite of one 
or two weak spots, really reaches a high level of patriotism and 
inspiration—a stirring appeal to his countrymen to be worthy of 
their past. Note in particular the reference to Hannibal with whom 
he elsewhere compares Alaric. In this tacit contrast of present and 
past we can surely read what Rome was to this poet of her later 
days*. 

“Nought grander on earth does the sky embrace. The eye 
cannot comprehend her extent, the heart her beauty, nor the voice 
her praise. With the lustre of her gold she rivals the stars she 
touches. Her seven hills recall the zones of Olympus. Mother of 
arms and laws, she spreads her rule over all mankind, the first to 
give them law. She it is who from narrow bounds spread to either 
pole, and starting from a little home reached forth her hands with 
the sun. Battling with destiny, while she waged countless wars at 
once, laid hold on the towns of Spain, besieged the towns of Sicily, 

1 b. Get, 54. Urbs aequaeva polo, 


2 b. Get. 506—511. 
3 In Ruf. ii. 50. Compare Prudentius, Symm. ii. 550: 


non fero Romanum nomen sudataque bella 
et titulos tanto quaesitos sanguine carpi. 


* Cons. Stil. iii. 131—170. 


Claudian 239 


brought low the Gaul on land, the Carthaginian on the sea, she 
never bowed to blow; no whit was she affrighted by wound, but her 
voice rose stronger after Cannae and the Trebia', and when the 
flames girt her round about and the foe was at the wall, she sent 
her armies to the distant Iberians, nor was she stayed by Ocean, 
but embarked upon the deep and sought the Britons in a world 
remote for afresh triumph. This is she who alone took the 
conquered to her bosom and cherished all mankind alike, as mother 
not as queen, and called them her sons whom she had conquered, 
and bound them to her afar by bonds of love. ‘To her rule of peace 
we owe it that the stranger is at home in every land, that men may 
dwell in every clime, that it is but sport to visit 'Thule and the 
furthest shores; that we may range from Rhone to Orontes; that 
we are all one people. Nor shall there ever be an end to Rome’s 
sway. Other realms luxury with its crimes and pride with its 
hatreds brought low. So the proud Spartan overthrew Athens and 
fell in turn to Thebes; so the Mede from the Assyrian, and the 
Persian from the Mede took the power. ‘The Macedonian crushed 
the Persian, himself to yield to the Romans. She stands grounded 
on the Sibyl’s oracles, inspired by the rites of Numa. For her 
Jupiter wields the thunderbolt; her Pallas shields with the Gorgon; 
hither brought Vesta her secret flame, and the tower-crowned | 
Mother of the Gods her mysteries and her Phrygian lions.” 

And yet there are ominous signs of what is coming. The 
Empire is weaker, the Goths grow stronger and do more and more 
mischief, and with loss of territory the number and the rapacity of 
the officials grow*. More ominous still, his “gods” have said to 
Alaric (who by thé way was Christian, if Arian) 


penetrabis ad Urbem. 


Claudian may make merry over this prophecy fulfilled at the river 
Urbis (the Borbo)*, but the divine pressure was still on Alaric, as he 
told the hermit, and to the City (Urbs) he came’. 

And Constantinople? ‘ Look,” he says, “at the Senate applaud- 
ing (Eutropius), those nobles of Byzantium, those Greek Quirites! 


1 I may be permitted to quote these lines, which after the battle of Colenso 
I felt represented English sentiment as truly as they do the Roman feeling 
of 216 B.c.: 
nunquam succubuit damnis et territa nullo 
vulnere post Cannas major Trebiamque fremebat. 


2 In Eutrop. ii. 590 rectorum numerum terris pereuntibus augent. 
3b, Get. 555. 4 Sozomen, ix. 6. 


240 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


O people worthy of its Senate! O Senate worthy of its Consul’!” 
“The ruler of the East, the destined consul, combed a mistress’ 
locks*.” ‘‘ Nobles,” he says, ‘‘ wont to scorn Rome and admire their 
own abode—which may the Bosporus overwhelm’*.” His crowning 
insult is the enumeration of the “founders” of New Rome—Byzas, 
Constantine and Eutropius*. From many of his expressions we can 
clearly see the growing severance between East and West. Apart 
from bis Roman sympathies, his Alexandrian origin would con- 
tribute to his dislike of Constantinople. Alexandria hated Constan- 
tinople, and to such an extent that Egypt did not care to battle 
against the Saracens, but surrendered to them at once. The hatred 
was racial and afterwards religious. 

We come now to the question of religion. “ An exquisite poet 
but a most stubborn heathen®” says Orosius of Claudian, when 
he quotes a line or two from which he carefully eliminates the 
heathenism. Augustine gives the same account of him—“ the poet 
Claudian, though a stranger to Christ’s name®.” One likes to think 
that Christians read and enjoyed him in spite of a difference of 
view. For Claudian was pronounced in his adherence to the old 
religion. No doubt it may be said, and it has been said at least 
often enough, that the gods in his poems are even more avowedly 
ornamental than in the Aeneid. Yet while Orosius and Augustine 
made a strong point of the bloodlessness and completeness of © 
Theodosius’ victories because they were God-given, it is surely not 
merely for decorative purposes that Claudian gives all the glory to 
the gods of old Rome. It has been remarked’ that there is also a 
significance in his invocation of Victory (Cons. Stil. ii. 205), in view 
of the battles that had been fought about the statue of the goddess 
and its removal from the Senate House. 

His direct allusions to Christianity are as scant as might have 
been expected from a man of culture of the old faith. It was a 
point of style to ignore the new religion. He has one or two sneers 
for the ‘‘Egyptian oracles” on which Eutropius rested, oracles 


1 Eutrop. ii. 135. 2 Eutrop. i. 105. 

3 Eutrop. ii, 339. + Eutrop. ii. 83. 

5 Orosius, vii. 35 poeta quidem eximius sed paganus pervicacissimus. 

6. Augustine, C. D. v. 26 poeta Claudianus quamvis a Christi nomine 
alienus. 

7 Boissier, F. P. ii. 244. I believe this critic is nearer the truth when he 
says of Claudian’s attitude to Christianity, ‘‘il y songe toujours,” than 
M. Beugnot (cited by Milman on Gibbon) who talks of ‘‘his extraordinary 
indifference.” As to Victory, see the famous relatio of Symmachus and 
Ambrose’s reply (Epp. i. 18), and the two thoughtful and courteous books 
of Prudentius adversus Symmachum. 


\ 


Claudian 241 


supposed to be those of the Egyptian hermit John, whom Augustine 
tells us Theodosius consulted’. But the epigram addressed to the 
military commander (duke) Jacob is his only direct mention of saint 
and scripture, and surely suffices to shew his mind. 


By the threshold of Peter, the ashes of Paul, 

My verses, duke Jacob, misquote not at all; 

So the saints from the Alps the invaders repel ; 

So Susanna the chaste lend her forces as well ; 

So Thomas be with you instead of a shield ; 

So Bartholomew go as your squire to the field ; 

So whoever shall swim the chill Danube to fight, 

Like the horses of Pharaoh be lost to your sight ; 

So the sword of your vengeance lay Gothic hordes low ; 
So the blessing of Thecla add strength to your blow ; 
So. your guest by his death yield the glory to you; 
While the bottles outpoured shall your dryness subdue ; 
So your hand ne’er be stained by the blood of a foe ; 
Those verses, duke Jacob, I pray you, let go. 


Point is added to the opening of this little piece by the fact 
that the basilica of St Paul had been begun by Theodosius and was 
finished by Honorius, and bore the inscription 


Theodosius coepit perfecit Honorius aulam 
Doctoris mundi sacratam corpore Pauli?. 


No wonder Orosius says paganus pervicacissimus, when Claudian 
wrote as he did under the shade of this epg newly dedicated by 
his Emperor’. 

As men are influenced by their peebe raat, I had the curiosity 
to note all passages in which I could find anything that looked at 
all like specific knowledge of the scriptures. Had he any know- 
ledge of them? ‘“ Pharaoh’s horses” answer yes. But did they 
make any impression on him? I give a list of these passages, 
which, liberally interpreted, might be referred to some scriptural 


parallel. 


1 Augustine, C. D. v. 26. Praef. Eutrop. ii. 39 and Eutrop. i. 312. Soz. 
vii, 22. 
_ 3 See Gregorovius, City of Rome, i. 100, and the famous poem of Prudentius 
on the churches of Saints Peter and Paul and their pilgrims. (Peri Steph- 
anon, 12.) 

3'In { triumphing over Eutropius he speaks of the pias aras (the Christian 
church) where the eunuch took sanctuary. 


G. : 16 


242 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Ruf. ii. 442—54. The fall of Ru- Jsaiah xiv. 12. How art thou 


finus and the movement of hell fallen from heaven, Lucifer— 
to meet him. Hell from beneath is moved 
for thee. 
Ruf. ii. 414. A hell without class Rev. xx. 12, 13. (More probably 
distinctions and an examination Neo-Platonic, cf. Hermes Trism. 
of lives. (ed. Bipont.) p. 312.) 


Cons. Stil. i. 84. Tune exultasse Job xxxviii. 7. 
choreis astra ferwnt. 

vt. Cons. Hon. 523. Simile of Isaiah lxi. 10. 
mother preparing bride for her 
husband. 

Laus Serenae 94. Omina non audet Luke ii. 19. 
genetrix tam magna fatert | suc- 
cessusque suos arcant conscia 
voti | spe trepidante fovet. 

R. P. ii. 94 of flowers: Parthica Matthew vi. 29. Solomon in all 
quae tantis variantur cingula his glory. 
gemmis | regales vinctura sinus. 


To these let me add parallels Dr Hodgkin suggests : 
ὃ. Get. 625—632. Alaric’s mother Judges v. 28—30. The mother of 


wanted Roman ladies as slave Sisera. : 
girls. 

Exordium to Jn Rufinum i. Psalm xxiii. 

In Ruf. ii. 249—50. Non est victoria Prov, xvi. 32. 
tanti, etc. 


None of these is very convincing. Claudian may have known 
something of the Christian scriptures, but I doubt if it was very 
much. One striking coincidence with Christian language I believe 
to be accidental. In one of his pieces of embroidery he intro- 
duces the child it was hoped the Empress Maria might bear—a 
child, however, never born. Sacri Mariae partus' is his phrase, 
and it has a strange suggestion to our ears, which 1 do not think it 
had at the time. The Christian thought of the day had not reached 
that point of view, and it would not occur to Claudian, and perhaps 
hardly to his Christian readers, that the words might be taken in 
another sense than that meant. : 


1 Cons. Stil. ti. 342. Almost everything connected with an Emperor is 
sacred, even the wounds his hunting spear makes. Even in business prose 
Symmachus, reserving cases for the Emperor’s decision, refers to it as sacrum 
oraculum. Brockhaus, Prudentius, pp. 252, 294, brings out the fact that, in 
spite of the stress laid by Catholic archaeologists on representations of the 
Virgin in Christian art, the language and tone of Prudentius are decidedly 
against the theory that she yet received any special honours; she is still a 
Nebenfigur. So Gregorovius, Rome in the Middle Ages, i. 103. The cult of the 
Virgin was as yet not oflicially recognized in the 4th century. 


Claudian 243 


But whatever heathens may have thought or wished, it was 
inevitable that their beliefs must be affected by the presence of 
Christianity. The Reformation caused the Counter Reformation 
and thus affected the Papacy. The Disruption in Scotland in 1843, 
by creating the Free Church, gave new life to the Established 
Church. So heathenism is not the same after as before the dis- 
semination of Christianity. Too much stress may be laid on this, 
it is true, for there was a general revival of religion contempo- 
raneously with the spread of the Gospel, which aided it but is 
hardly to be traced to it. Marcus Aurelius doubted but sacrificed. 
In Apuleius we may first read the general drift of this revival. 
Juvenal has indeed a curious hint of the future faith of heathenism, 
when he writes of the gods Carior est illis homo quam sibi, but the 
acceptance of this as the great feature of the old religion comes 
later. 

At the end of the fourth century heathen thought in the West 
has reached a genial if rather shallow optimism, whose cardinal 
doctrine is what Ammianus calls benignitas numinis’, the kindliness 
of the divine. It is the philosophy of Omar Khayyam’s pot, whose 
conclusion to the debate on the potter is 


“ He’s a good fellow, and ’t will all be well.” 


We have seen how Claudian held that the universe rests on 
love*, and that mercy makes us like the gods while in all else we are 
inferior®. Elsewhere he dilates further on Mercy, the eldest of the 
gods, the guardian of the universe, who ended chaos and brought 
the world into light, who chooses man for her temple, and teaches 
peace, forgiveness, gentleness, “after the example of the heavenly 
Father (aetherii patris exemplo), who, though he shakes the world 
with his thunder, directs his shafts upon the rocks and sea monsters, 
and sparing of our blood uses his bolts upon the woods of Oeta*.” 

-Thus the problem of the seeming aimlessness of heaven’s judgments 
is solved. The warm springs of the Aponus are a witness to 
heaven’s goodness. ‘‘ Who dare ascribe such services to Chance? 
Who denies that the gods ordained all this? The great Father 
(ille pater rerum), who allots the aeons to the stars, when he gave 


‘1 Amm. Mare. xxi. 1, 9. 

2 iv. Cons. Hon. 284 Nonne vides operum quod: se pulcherrimus ipse mundus 
amore liget. 

3 iv. Cons. Hon. 277 sola deos aequat clementia nobis. It sounds like a 
correction of Lucretius if he really was still read. 

4 Cons. Stil. ii. 6—28. Cf. Synesius, Ep. 31. 


16—2 


244 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


the sacred first beginnings of heaven gave thee, and pitying our frail 
tenure of our form bade earth give forth streams of healing, and the 
waters that should stay the stern distaffs of the fates gushed forth 
upon the hills’.” Retribution is the lesson of Rufinus’ fall, while on 
the other hand heaven rewards the good, for he tells the story of 
the so-called Thundering Legion “whether Chaldean strains with 
magic rite thus armed the gods, or, as J think, the character of 
Marcus won all the care of the Thunderer’.” The sum of his 
criticism of the Universe may perhaps be given in these words 
of his, “Nature has given to all to be happy if a man but know 
how to use the στ 

In the Rape of Proserpine‘, Claudian is telling again the story 
that had charmed mankind for a thousand years, but I seem to find 
even in the fragment of it, the three books which are all we have, 
elements of the poet’s own. His tale is incomplete but it is yet 
instinct with beauty and sorrow. ‘The atmosphere is not that of 
the Homeric hymn to Demeter. It could not be. It more nearly 
recalls Apuleius’ story of Cupid and Psyche in its richness of colour 
and prettiness, the humanity of its gods and its suggestions of some 
deeper meaning. ‘he whole story seems re-conceived, and the new 
treatment differs from the old, much as a fairy tale of Andersen’s 
differs from one of Grimm’s collection. The wistful imagination 
of the modern has read something of himself and his day into the 
legend of divine sorrow. 

It opens not very well. Pluto’s rhetorical rage at being without 
a wife seems ludicrous, when the Fates at once intervene with the 
words, “ Ask Jove and thou shalt have a wife.” But when we come 
to Ceres and Proserpine it is very different. Fearful of losing her 
child, Ceres hides her in Sicily and then goes to visit Cybele in 
Phrygia. Venus is sent by Jove to Proserpine, and to disarm 
suspicion takes with her the virgin goddesses Pallas and Diana; 
yet her path gleams like a comet’s trail of boding, for Venus in 
Claudian, as in Apuleius, is a somewhat malign figure. They find 

1 Minor Poems, 26. Aponus a medicinal spring near Padua, ef. Lucan vii. 
193.- Cf. Amm. Marc. xxi. 1, 9, on augury, which benignitas numinis grants to 
mankind to help them through the world. 

2 vi. Cons. Hon. 349 seu, quod reor, omne Tonantis | obsequium Marci 
wee potmere mereri. Is this a quiet correction of the common Christian 
παρ Ena. &, S18 Notwra bentis,| pmadbas-gase dient gas aaeneaneae 

4 The reader may be at once referred to Mr Pater’s essay on The Myth of 
Demeter and Persephone in his Greek Studies for a genuinely sympathetic 


account of this poem. On one point I differ from him, for I cannot prefer 
Ovid’s story of the two goddesses. 


eT 


Claudian 945 


her at her embroidery “the description of which” says Mr Pater 
“is the most brilliant of his pictures, and, in its quaint confusion of 
images of philosophy with those of mythology, anticipates something 
of the fancy of the Italian Renaissance.” Let me give it in 
Mr Pater’s translation. 

“ Proserpina, filling the house soothingly with her low song, was 
working a gift against the return of her mother, with labour all to 
be in vain. In it, she marked out with her needle the house of the 
gods and the series of the elements, showing by what law, nature, 
the parent of all, settled the strife of ancient times, and the seeds 
of things disparted to their places; the lighter elements are borne 
aloft, the heavier fall to the centre; the air grows bright with heat, 
a blazing light whirls round the firmament; the sea flows; the 
earth hangs suspended in its place. And there were divers colours 
in it; she illuminated the stars with gold, infused a purple shade 
into the water and heightened the shore with gems of flowers, and, 
under her skilful hand, the threads, with their inwrought lustre, 
swell up in momentary counterfeit of the waves; you might think 
that the seaweed’ flapped against the rocks, and that a hollow 
murmur came creeping over the thirsty sands. She puts in the five 
zones, marking with a red ground the midmost zone, possessed by 
burning heat; its outline was parched and stiff; the threads 
seemed thirsty with the constant sunshine, on either side lay the 
two zones proper for human life, where a gentle temperature reigns; 
and at the extremes she drew the twin zones of numbing cold, 
making her work dun and sad with the hues of perpetual frost. 
She paints in, too, the sacred places of Dis, her father’s brother, 
and the Manes, so fatal to her; and an omen of her doom was not 
wanting ; for, as she worked, as if with foreknowledge of the future, 
her face became wet with a sudden burst of tears. And now in the 
utmost border of the tissue she had begun to wind in the wavy line 
of the river Oceanus, with its glassy shallows; but the door sounds 
on its hinges and she perceives the goddesses coming.” 

Next day the three goddesses go forth with many nymphs to 
gather flowers which Zephyr has made grow to greet her in a lovely 
scene. It should be noticed here, as Mr Mackail has remarked, 
that Claudian’s treatment of nature leans to the old method, the 
_ rhetorical, the Alexandrine, and is very different from Ausonius’ 
work in the Moselle. Here once more Claudian is essentially 


1 Mr Pater’s ‘‘sea-wind”’ seems a misprint of his editor’s in view of Claudian’s 
algam, 


246 Life and. Letters in the Fourth Century 


decorative. Proserpine, interested beyond her comrades, plucks 
and twines, and “crowns herself without thought—a fatal augury 
of her wedlock.” The ground rocks and Pluto appears and bears 
her off, his horses plunging at the light. The goddesses Diana 
and Pallas would rescue her, but a pacific clap of thunder forbids. 
As he drives, Pluto tries to console his bride, but not quite as he 
does in the Homeric hymn when her return to earth is threatened. 
“Count not the daylight lost. We have other stars, and thou shalt 
see a clearer light and marvel yet more at the sun of Elysium...... 
Nor shalt thou lack grassy meadows, where lapped by gentler 
Zephyrs fadeless flowers breathe...... Thou shalt rule rich Autumn 
and ever be blest with yellow fruits...... Purpled kings shall come 
to thy feet, mingling with the throng of poor folk. Thow shalt 
condemn the guilty; thow shalt give rest to the good.” (Tu 
requiem latura piis.) Not so the Homeric hymn, but “ Thou shalt 
have vengeance of such as do thee wrong, whosoever shall not all 
their days do thee honour with sacrifices.” The conception is very 
different. It is not merely the contrast between the vindictive and 
juridical spirit of Greek and Roman, but between the earlier and 
the later days. ‘Rest for the good” had perhaps never been such 
an object of desire. 

Again, the descent of Proserpine into hell is new and strange. 
The souls gather to meet her, thick as autumn leaves, many as the 
waves or the sands, as the god drives home his bride, “ suffering a 
smile to play on his lips, and unlike his wonted self.” The pale 
region rejoices and the nations of the buried triumph. The eternal 
night permits less palpable darkness. The penalties of the damned 
are relaxed, and death keeps holiday. One has seen something like 
this before, though it was not in the classics, but in the apocryphal 
gospel, which tells of another descent into hell and the rejoicing of 
the dead. Did Claudian think of it, or is it the same instinct which 
gave rise to the apocryphal story asserting itself again ? 

With the third book we come to Ceres, the Mater Dolorosa, as 
she has been called, of heathenism. Jove summons the gods and 
explains the design behind his action. ΤῸ waken mankind from 
the sloth and lethargy of the golden age, he has let it pass away— 
not that he envies man, for gods may not feel ill-will nor do hurt— 
but want must be nurse and breeder of all good. Yet under the 
change Earth complains of her sterility. So he has brought this 
grief upon Ceres, and it is decreed that she wander over sea and 
land in yearning sorrow, till in joy for learning how to find her 


Claudian 247 


daughter she give corn to men, but none of the gods must help her. 
Thus a moral purpose is given to the old story it hardly knew 
before. Aeschylus has shewn us the divine sufferer for mankind, 
who paid a cruel penalty for the blessings he had given them, but 
here is one whose sufferings are the very means towards the 
blessings to be given. They are involuntary, but underlying them 
is a great divine design. 

Ceres, moved by strange dreams, returns to Sicily and finds the 
empty house, and as she crosses the desolate hall she lights on the 
web her daughter was embroidering, over which the spider is 
weaving his web. Yet she wept not nor mourned; only she prints 
kisses on the fabric, and gathers up the work-things her daughter’s 
hands had touched and presses them to her bosom for her. This 
episode is Claudian’s own. The introduction of the spider busy at 
what had been the daughter’s labour of love, and the contrast, 
suggested but not pictured with its “sorrow’s crown of sorrow,” 
mark Claudian’s highest level of poetic feeling’. 

The old nurse (like the nurses in the tragedies) tells her tale, 
which is a little too pretty perhaps for epic; and we hear Ceres call 
out on the gods, angry and distraught; and then when they answer 
not, sad and downcast, she prays at least, as a mother would, to 
know her daughter’s fate : 


hoc tantum liceat certos habuisse dolores. 


The poem closes with a striking picture of her standing at night 
upon Etna, torch in hand, while the light falls upon the waters far 
and wide. 

So much we have of a poem, in which I think it is not hard to see 
a deeper vein of thought than we find in the poet’s panegyrics. He is 
not playing with his theme as Ovid played with it, but he reads in it a 
moral significance. How he would have worked this out we cannot 


1 It may seem harsh to be critical at this point, but though the idea be 
beautiful, the expression of it seems to me to fail. Granted that the whole 
poem is left unfinished and that this passage may be unrevised, it still shews 
the marks of Claudian’s habitual haste. There is a want of meditation about 
the verses. They are not a final expression, but seem more like a rough note 
for future use : 

Divinus perit ille labor, spatiumque relictum 
audax sacrilego supplebat aranea textu. 


The spatium relictum differs little from conversational prose of shop or work- 
room, and the adjectives audax and sacrilego are by no means inevitable. They 
are weak in fact. Put alongside this almost any similar passage of Virgil— 
ignarum Laurens habet ora Mimanta—and Claudian’s weakness will be felt. 
I have emphasized this, because this is a sort of crucial passage where a poet 
must rise if he can. 


248 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


say, for like Proserpine’s embroidery it is for ever unfinished. Still 
we may not be far astray in holding that he means to justify the 
ways of God to men. Of course his work here is not free from 
the defects it shews elsewhere. It bears marks of haste and 
cleverness and rhetoric, but still the poem has undeniable dignity 
and beauty. 

Liceat certos habuisse dolores! This later Paganism was amiable 

“and on the whole cheerful. It had left behind the essential hope- 
lessness and sadness of Virgil, and was happy and contented in 
makeshift truth. It did not go below the surface very much. It 
was not vitally concerned with realities, but dealt with dreams and 
memories and hopes. Thus it wanted that depth of feeling and 
conviction which come from contact with life, and the robuster 
minds turned away. For those who really thought, who really 
felt the weariness and darkness of the world, paganism, even though 
reinforced by Neo-Platonism, had neither consolation nor hope. It 
was not solid enough. Augustine, speaking of his sorrow as a young 
man at his friend’s death, writes: “‘ The burden should have been laid 
on Thee to be healed; I knew this, yet I would not and I could 
not, for when I thought of Thee, Thou wast not to me anything 
jirm or solid.” The dreams of Claudian, like those of Julian, were 
beautiful, and some perhaps were true, but they lacked the certum 
Augustine sought and mankind with him. Volebam enim eorum 
quae non viderem ita me certum fieri ut certus essem quod septem et 
tria decem sint. 

Historians may debate the value of this or that statement of 
Claudian’s, and with reason. But they must admit his evidence on 
the general conditions of the life of his day. Its pageants and 
circuses and splendours, its magnificence and flunkeyism, its deso- 
lation and wretchedness, he brings vividly before us. The Goths in 
Greece and in Phrygia seem to haunt us, even when we are most 
confidently assured that the Empire is saved and that its frontiers 
will be wider than ever’. For his pictures of Gothic devastation 
seem not to be so overdrawn as those are which shew us the smiling 
and glorious Rome under Stilicho’s wing. If he suffered, and he 
certainly did suffer, as a poet by undertaking the literary defence of 
Stilicho, it was not all loss, for Rome—the Rome he loved—in her 
glitter and her misery, stands before us in his gorgeous series of 
panegyrics as she could scarcely else have done. 


1 Here for example is a tell-tale phrase—solo poterit Stilichone medente | 
crescere Romanum vulnus tectura cicatrix, Cons. Stil. ii. 204. 


CHAPTER ΧΙ 


PRUDENTIUS 


Die tropaeum passionis, dic triumphalem crucem. 
Cath. ix. 83 


Every man is influenced to a greater or less extent by his age 
and his contemporaries, and we must understand these if we would 
understand the man. His thoughts will be guided by those of 
his time, for whether he agree or disagree, whether he lead or 
follow he will think of what other people are thinking around him. 

Prudentius was born in the middle of the fourth century, in 
the midst of a cluster of great men. Jerome and Ambrose were 
born in 340, Chrysostom in 347, Prudentius in 348, and Augustine 
in 354. Prudentius was thirteen when Julian ascended the throne 
and made the last attempt to galvanize heathenism into life, and by 
his failure shewed the world that its day had passed. Athanasius, 
a household name in every Christian land, died when Prudentius 
was between twenty and thirty. He was thirty when the Goths 
won their first great victory in 378 at Adrianople. He lived to 
see Rome herself the Christian centre of a Christian world, 
and perhaps died jelia opportunitate mortis before she too fell 
to the conquering Goth when Alaric sacked Rome in 410. It was 
a century of great movements and great men—interesting from 
its dark beginning with the persecutions of Diocletian, Galerius 
and Maximin to its end. It was the century when, triumphant 
over foes without, as Prudentius loves to emphasize, the Church 
had her first great world-wide fight with foes within to secure that 
victorious Christianity should not prove after all another form of 
heathenism. ‘The councils from Nicaea onward mark the progress 
of the struggle. And all the time there was this dark cloud of 


250 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


barbarism threatening in the North—a terrible background for all 
this carnal and spiritual warfare. 

Christianity, as we have seen, had won the day and had won 
the world. It was no longer perilous to be a Christian and the 
world rushed into the Church. We picture to ourselves an Athan- 
asius and an Augustine as types of the age, but a far more typical 
man is the great semi-Arian ecclesiastical diplomatist and politician 
Eusebius of Nicomedeia. The world had swarmed into the Church 
and taken the sacraments, but the result could have been pro- 
phesied. The tone of Christian living and thinking grew lower and 
lower. Even before now heathen intluences had deeply coloured 
much of the best Christian thought, but now the dye is un- 
mistakable. The priesthood had grown great, thanks to St Cyprian 
and his followers; it now grew greater still. Saints and martyrs 
took the place of eponymous heroes and demi-gods—a change for 
the better perhaps, for they were less immoral, but scarcely an 
improvement on primitive Christianity. Eastern and Western 
alike had elevated the Supreme God to such a height that He was 
out of reach of the universe, and now they began to introduce 
the martyrs to bridge the gulf. And with the martyrs came their 
relics, the tales of their passions, their tombs and their images, 
pilgrimages to see all these wonders, and prayers at the shrines. 
We shall find all this in Prudentius, and we must remember that 
he was a Spaniard and in Spain began the worship of pictures’. 
Simultaneously came in from outside heathen notions which turned 
the simple rites of the early Church into mysteries. Let any one 
read St Ambrose on baptism and contrast him with St Paul, and the 
change in Christian thought will be felt. And with all this came a 
lower tone of Christian living, and the gladiatorial games (not ended 
till after Prudentius’ death, and the subject of more than one 
honourable appeal made by him) and the races and the theatres 
(privatum consistorium impudicitiae) divided with the churches 
and the martyrs’ shrines the interests of mankind, and as is usual 
in such cases took more than their share. 

Of all this and of the heresies with which the Church, especially 
the Western Church, had to contend, we find abundant evidence 
in Prudentius, Like most Western Christians he had little aptitude 


1 See Dale, Synod of Elvira, pp. 292, 295. This Council met about 306 a.p. 
and already found it necessary to forbid the use of images and pictures in the 
churches. Pope Damasus, whose energy in this direction was epoch-making, 
was also a Spaniard. 


Prudentius 251 


for theological speculation and was intensely practical. Accordingly 
with the rest he adopted the Nicene Creed as the final statement 
of Christian truth, and except by accident turned neither to the 
right hand nor to the left. 

Prudentius was born in 348, probably in the Spanish town of 
Caesaraugusta or Saragossa’. ‘His early age wept under the 
cracking rods*,” he tells us, and leaves us to infer what other elements 
there had been in his education. Probably, like most other boys, 
he studied the two great subjects of the day—grammar and rhetoric. 
Ausonius, his contemporary (310—393), the poet of Bordeaux, 
wrote a series of poems on his professors and it appears that most 
of them were grammarians or rhetoricians. Both would use the 
same text-book—Virgil. In every school of the Latin world 
haerebat nigro fuligo Maroni, and as the grime gathered on Maro’s 
page the grammarian drew from it all the lessons letters can give— 
grammar, prosody, style, archaeology, philosophy, history, religion, 
and what not? But while the rhetorician taught the youth to 
write replies for Dido, he did not teach them the real meaning and 
value of Virgil, as Macrobius’ works plainly shew. Still Virgil 
left his mark on this age of Latin literature too. They wept for 
Virgil’s Dido if not for the rhetorician’s, and echoes of his music 
passed into their verse. World and Church alike loved him and 
canonized him in their own ways. 

Juvencus, an elder Spanish contemporary of Prudentius, alludes 
in the preface of his Evangelic History to Minciadae dulcedo 
Maronis, and the same sweetness shaped Prudentius as a hundred 
passages in his poems shew. Over and above his Virgil, he learnt 
his Bible to such an extent, that M. Boissier finds rather more of 
it in his poems than he thinks will be readily intelligible to modern 


1 Tarraco and Calagurris have also been named as the poet’s birthplace, but 
opinion is generally in favour of Caesaraugusta. See Sixt, die Lyrischen Gedichte 
des A. Prud. Clemens, p. 3, τι. 1, where it is discussed at length. Brockhaus, 
Aur. Prud. Clem. p. 15. 

2 Τὸ is curious to find both that St Augustine (Conf. i. 9, 14) should have a 
good deal to say about the rod, a subject to which he devoted much ineffectual 
prayer in his boyhood to his parents’ amusement; and that Ausonius (Ep. 22, 
29), in a letter designed to encourage his grandson, should give him a positively 
tingling list of a whole armoury of scholastic implements, memories perhaps of 
more active days. Elsewhere Prudentius gives a more particular account of 
the hatefulness of school-life in the crowning martyrdom of the schoolmaster 
Cassianus. It is not written, like Ausonius’ description, from the teacher’s 
point of view, and the general conclusion seems to be in ll. 27, 28: 


doctor amarus enim discenti semper ephebo, 
nec dulcis ulli disciplina infantiae est. 


252 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


readers’. At a later period in life he seems also to have studied 
the apologists and perhaps others of the fathers. The influence 
of Tertullian is particularly conspicuous in his works’. 

On boyhood followed the toga of manhood, and taught him to 
lie, he tells us, and wanton lust and selfish indulgence defiled his 
youth. ‘This may be poetical license. His language reminds one 
of St Augustine’s Confessions, yet the question may fairly be 
raised whether the poet had really a loose and ill-governed youth 
to deplore like the saint (though injustice has been done to 
Augustine here, as Loofs shews), or whether a highly sensitive 
conscience, like Bunyan’s, led him to over-estimate his youthful 
depravity. When he speaks of learning to lie, falsa loqui, it should 
be remarked that he is only using the common Christian description 
of the study of rhetoric®. 

Though he speaks of militia he was oninite not in the army, 
but in the civil service, of which the word is sometimes used*. He 
rose to be twice a magistrate of noble cities; dealt out Roman 
law to the good, and was a terror to evildoers, and was finally 
honoured by the Emperor and awoke to find a snowy head convicting 
him of old age. He was fifty-seven, he tells us, and his tone has 
suggested premature age. He looks back on his past life with 
regret, honourable as it had clearly been, and asks in sadness, 
“ What useful thing have I done in all these years?” He then 
says he will now begin life in earnest. He will, he tells us, write 
hymns day and night, war against heresies and unravel the catholic 
faith, trample under foot the sacred things of heathenry, do despite 
to Rome’s idols, hymn the martyrs and praise the Apostles. 

Accordingly some have supposed his poetical work to belong 
to the latter years of his life, untouched till he was fifty-seven ! 
But apart from the fact that he knows nothing of Stilicho’s fall 
in 408, which would seem to limit his activity to a short period, 

1 Boissier, La Fin du Paganisme, ii. 115 “ces récits nous étant devenus moins 
familiers,”’ 

2 See Brockhaus, Aurelius Prudentius Clemens in seiner Bedeutung fiir die 
Kirche seiner Zeit, c. 8, I shall have to refer again to this excellent mono- 


graph. 
’ Cf. Paulinus to Ausonius (Ep. x.), God’s light is obscured : 


quam vis sophorum callida arsque rhetorum et 
Jigmenta vatum nudilant, 

qui corda falsis atque vanis imbuunt 
tantumque linguas instruunt. 


Similarly St Augustine in his Confessions, e.g. iv. 2, 2. 
4 E.g. Aug. Conf. viii. 6, 15, of an Agens in Rebus. Sixt however (p. 5) 
believes he was in the army, against Brockhaus and Puech. 


Prudentius 253 


we can certainly date his second book against Symmachus 403 a.D. 
—ie. two years earlier than the date he himself gives for his 
preface. It is surely more reasonable to assume he wrote this 
preface on the completion rather than the inception of his book 
of collected poems. 

First, however, let us see what had been achieved by his 
predecessors in Christian verse. ‘The extraordinary poems of 
Commodian, written in hexameters which suggest Hvangeline quite 
as much as the Aeneid, would hardly have been counted as 
literature at all by cultured people. In fact it seems it was not for 
such readers that they were intended’. We are told that Tertullian 
wrote poems and Cyprian too, but the best editors group their 
several poems as spurious works, and in three cases the same 
piece appears amongst the pseudonyma of both fathers. More 
genuine works are those of some men roughly contemporaries of 
Prudentius. Damasus, Pope 366 a.pD., wrote neat Ovidian verse 
on Jerusalem, some hymns on the saints, a couple of acrostics 
on our Lord’s name, and a large number of poetical inscriptions 
for the Catacombs, which under his care were becoming great 
centres for pilgrimages. There are moreover some dull and rather 
halting hexameters on Genesis (a fatally attractive theme at this 
period), which have been attributed to Hilary of Poitiers, though it 
is now believed they are not his work. I come now to two more 
important poets. “Juvencus the presbyter,’ says St Jerome (Hp. 
Ixx. 5), “in the reign of Constantine, set forth the history of our 
Lord and Saviour in verse, and was not afraid to submit the 
majesty of the Gospel to the laws of metre.” Juvencus was a 
Spaniard, a fellow-countryman of Damasus and Prudentius. His 
harmony of the Gospels is a quiet and very neat piece of work, 
holding to the original with extraordinary closeness. His metre 
is most monotonous if correct. But such works have little interest, 
however successful. St Ambrose of Milan wrote hymns for the 
Christian day in iambic dimeters, one of them noble in its sim- 
plicity, the others simple but hardly noble. These hymns were an 
epoch-making innovation; but Ambrose, if more serviceable as a 
hymn-writer, is by no means equal to Prudentius as a poet. 

Prudentius is after all the first really great Christian poet, 


1 What pleasure was there for ears trained in Virgil in two such lines as 
these? (Carm. Apol. 942) : 


nec mortuos plangunt nec lugunt more de nostro, 
exspectantque vitam resurrectionemque futuram. 


254 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


towering over his fellow-Christians as Claudian did over the 
heathen. It is not easy to-day to realize his significance, so 
familiar are we with the union of Christian thought and poetry. 
Prudentius lived in a day when men clung to old ways and old 
themes, and he displays a certain independence and even originality 
in daring to strike out a new path in literature. He broke away 
from tradition, took an unfamiliar subject, and triumphantly shewed 
mankind that it was capable of poetic treatment. 

He is as strongly Roman in feeling and instinct as Claudian 
himself, if possible more Roman than Claudian. He is as proud 
of Rome’s history, her victories and her lawgiving, her heroes and 
patriots.. He too has stood in the long succession and has had 
his share, as Claudian never had, in the ruling of the Empire, and 
the temper of the man of affairs clung to him. All he does has 
the Roman mark upon it—it is all directed to some practical end’. 
But he is a Christian, and if possible he is a Christian before he 
is a Roman. Ausonius passed for a Christian, but Prudentius, 
in every line of his work, proclaims his faith and serves his Church 
with all the energy of his being. It was the age of the victorious 
Church, mistress of the Roman world, and not yet seriously dreading 
the heathenism and savagery of the German. Prudentius writes 
with the consciousness of victory. ‘The cross is the triumphal 
emblem of the /abarum and has very little suggestion of suffering 
about it. Yet the victory was not quite complete. Heathenism 
lived on in a stubborn minority, and was ready to reclaim many 
from among the Christian majority on slight provocation. 

‘Prudentius must from a child have heard many a tale of 
martyrdom. ‘The five edicts of persecution from 303 to 308 must 
have fallen in his grandfather’s, if not in his father’s time, and 
Prudentius had at the most receptive time of boyhood lived through 
the reign of Julian (Apoth. 449), for whom it is interesting to 
find he had like St Augustine a not unkindly feeling*, Conse- 


1 Cf. his question when he reviews his life; quid nos utile tanti spatio 
temporis egimus? This is the old Roman ideal of utile. Cf. Horace, Epp. 
ii. 1, 163, the Roman inquired quid Sophocles et Thespis et Aeschylus utile 
Serrent. 

2 Augustine, Enarr, in Psalm. xcviii. 2 magis remanserunt idola in cordibus 
paganorum, quam in locis templorum. 

3 Cf. Apoth. 450 me puero, memini, ductor fortissimus armis | conditor et 
legum, celeberrimus ore manuque | consultor patriae...perfidus ille Deo, quamvis 
non perfidus orbi. Julian as a man of action, a soldier, a lawgiver, appealed to 
Prudentius, who would have cared little for his philosophy. 

Augustine, C. D. v. 21 apostatae Juliani...egregiam indolem. For Augustine, 
never a Civil servant (unless as professor at Milan, perhaps), and writing after 


Prudentius 255 


quently he has a good deal to say about idolatry, and if much 
that he says was said before by Tertullian and others, still we 
must not think it did not need to be repeated, or that our poet 
was fighting a dead issue. And again, heresy called for attention. 

We do our thinking so much in compartments that we do not 
always realize to what extent things are mixed in this world. We 
read of Julian, Valentinian, Stilicho, and we read of Athanasius, 
Jerome and Augustine, but we do not always properly correlate 
the spheres in which they moved. Prudentius was the contem- 
porary of them all, and in a measure entered into the life of 
them all. He saw the Roman world as a whole still, though 
there were already signs of the ultimate cleavage of East and 
West. Various questions rose in his mind. Why had God so 
markedly throughout all these centuries subdued people after 
people to Rome, and welded the world into one’? Long ago 
Virgil had seen mankind under Roman sway, and in Prudentius’ 
own day Claudian was writing nobly of Rome’s imperial destiny, 
for he saw the Roman world a world of Romans, and he was 
himself the symbol of his age, a Roman poet of Egyptian birth and 
Greek education. 


Haee est in gremio victos quae sola recepit, 
humanumque genus communi nomine fovit, 
matris non dominae ritu; civesque vocavit 
quos domuit nexuque pio longingua revinit. 


Cons. Stil. iii. 150. 


But Claudian’s reason would not satisfy Prudentius. The true reason 
lay outside Claudian’s range. 

Prudentius rises to the problem in the very spirit of St Paul. 
He sees that the object of the unification of mankind under the 
sway of Rome was the unification of mankind under the sway of 
Christ. ‘There was to be one earthly and one heavenly empire, 
the one in order to the other; mankind was to be one in Rome 
that it might be one in Christ. Christ was the author of Rome’s 
greatness for Himself. This was a new idea. 


Alaric’s capture of Rome, it was impossible to have Prudentius’ feeling for Rome 
and the Empire. He had to find God’s ideal state elsewhere. 

1 Not everybody asked such questions. Cyprian, for example (Quod idola 
dei non sunt, 5), is content to say regna autem non merito accidunt sed sorte 
variantur. 


256 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Felices, si cuncta Deo sua prospera Christo 
principe disposita scissent! qui currere regna 
certis ducta modis Romanorumque triwmphos 
_erescere et impletis voluit se infundere saeclis. 
Adv, Symm. i. 287. 


Vis dicam quae causa tuos Romane labores 
in tantum extulerit? quis gloria fotibus aucta 
sic cluat, impositis ut mundum frenet habenis ? 
Discordes linguis populos et dissona cultu 
regna volens sociare Deus, subjungier wnt 
imperio quidquid tractabile moribus esset, 
concordique jugo retinacula mollia ferre 
constituit, quo corda hominum conjuncta teneret 
religionis amor: nec enim fit copula Christo 
digna nisi implicitas societ mens unica gentes. 
Adv. Symm. ii. 582. 


O Christe numen unicum, 

O splendor, O virtus Patris, 
O factor orbis et poli 

atque auctor horum moenium : 


gut sceptra Romae in vertice 
rerum locasti, sanciens 
mundum Quirinali togae 
servire et armis cedere: 


ut discrepantum gentium 
mores et observantiam, 
linguasque et ingenia et sacra 
unis domares legibus. 
Steph. ii. 413. 


Hoc actum est tantis successibus atque triumphis 
Romani imperii; Christo jam tune venienti, 


crede, parata via est. 
Adv. Symm. ii. 618. 


It follows then that heathenism is an obstacle to God’s designs, 
but not the only one. When the fighting is at an end in the 
Psychomachia and every vice is vanquished, a new enemy is — 
discovered within the ranks of the victors—Discord or Heresy, 
and the names of Photinus and Arius occur immanes feritate lupi'. 


1 Curiously enough this is Prudentius’ only reference to Arius. The West 
was as yet little troubled about Arianism. Justina and the Germans were 
the only Western Arians of any importance. As a general rule the heretics 
Prudentius attacks are those against whom Tertullian has supplied him with 
ammunition. 


Prudentius 257 


Heresy has to share the fate of Idolatry, Lust, and other enemies, 
and then the temple of God is built within the soul. So in the 
case of the world Heresy mars God’s intended unity, and must 
be done away. ‘To what this led we see in the case of a younger 
contemporary, Nestorius, the bishop of Constantinople, who asked 
the Emperor to give him earth clear of heretics and he would 
assure him of heaven in return. Fate’s revenges are interesting. 
Nestorius was an arch-heretic ere he died. Prudentius is very 
far from such violence,/and would use no force with heretic or 
heathen. In fact he would not use violence even with idols, but 
cites with evident approval the decree of Theodosius that as works 
of art they are to be preserved—the workmanship of great artists, 
fairest ornaments of our land’. 

We may now turn to the works of Prudentius and pass them 
in rapid review. All of them are practical. His theological poems 
are directed to the end of presenting the true faith to his fellow 
Christians in an attractive form and at the same time clear of 
error. The Daily Round (or Cathemerinon) displays the same 
ethical tendency—employing abundant Scripture to make all aspects 
of our life conform with our Lord’s, each action recalling His, for Ὁ 
as He redeemed us by sharing our life, we rise by associating His 
own with ours. 

Beginning then with the two theological poems, the Hamar- 
tigenia and the Apotheosis, we find Prudentius displays remarkable 
ease and grace in handling well and poetically subjects which 
appear difficult and unpromising. He shews great skill in the 
vivid illustration of abstruse doctrines, and by glowing language, 
range and insight he achieves passages of distinction and elevation. 
His theology, if not original, is at least intelligent, though as I 
have said he occasionally slips a little one way or the other from 
the true Athanasian position. ‘These poems have been pronounced 
to be his best, and the poet has been compared with Lucretius for 
the enthusiasm and the poetic feeling with which he presents his 
views’. 

The Hamartigenia deals with the origin of evil and with 


1 ¢, Symm. i. 502; cf. Steph. ii. 481. See Gregorovius, Rome in the Middle 
Ages (translation), i. 61, 746—7. Cod. Theod. 16, 10, 8 aedem in qua simulacra 
feruntur posita, artis pretio quam divinitate metienda, jugiter patere publici 
consilii auctoritate decernimus, ; 

2 See Brockhaus, op. cit. p. 165, who prefers these Hexameter poems; and 
Boissier, F. P. ii. who gives the higher praise to the lyrical poems (p. 107), but 
compares the others with Lucretius (§ 3). 


a. 17 


258: Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Marcion and his two gods, following mainly the lines of Tertullian’s 
first two books against Marcion. If Marcion will maintain dividwuwm 
regnare Deum, Nature at least knows but one God. If two Gods, 
why not more? Si duo sunt igitur, cur non sunt multa Deorum 
millia? One of Marcion’s gods is author of evil and of the 
Old Testament, and maker of man and the universe, but he is 
‘more a devil than a god. Inventor vitii non est deus. And then 
we have the story of Satan’s revolt and his envy of man, of man’s 
fall, and nature’s corruption, the consequence of that fall. It is a 
striking passage of some length, tracing the painful and shameful 
results of man’s first sin, and exhibiting the general depravation 
of the senses, though at the beginning it was otherwise, for God 
saw His work that it was good (214—251). Then after a good 
deal of further discussion, and a prodigious parable from nature 
turning on the life-history of the viper’ which illustrates sin being 
its own eventual punishment, we have the great question, Why 
does God permit evil? 


si non vult Deus esse malum cur non vetat ? (641) 
And the familiar and perhaps only answer : 


non fit sponte bonus cui non est prompta potestas 

velle aliud * * (691) 
probitate coacta 

gloria nulla venit sordetque ingloria virtus. (694) 


Man has a free choice, and so we come to lines which recall 
Browning. 


Nune inter vitae dominum mortisque magistrum 
consistit medius: vocat hine Deus inde tyrannus 
ambiguum atque suis se motibus alternantem. (721) 


No, when the fight begins within himself 
A man’s worth something. God stoops o’er his head 


Satan looks up between his feet—both tug— 
He’s left himself 7 the middle.— 


There follow illustrations from Lot and Naomi’s daughters- 
in-law and bird catching, with an allusion to the Two Ways— 
that wonderful parable, popular from the days of Hercules’ choice, 
and in Prudentius’ hands reminding one of Bunyan’s Hill Difficulty 

1 This may be found in part in Pliny, N. H. x. 62. The young vipers eat 
their way out of their mother, so killing her. Thus ‘sin, having conceived, 


bringeth forth death.’ Plutarch (Ser. Num. Vind. end) quotes this viper as 
Pindar’s. 


Prudentius 259 


and its alternatives. And so to pictures of Heaven and Hell, which 
may be rendered into English as follows : 


Then, of foreknowledge, did the Father set 

Murk Tartarus to burn with streams of lead. 

Pitch and bitumen fill the infernal sluice, 

Sunk deep in darkling hell. Beneath he bade, 

Deep under Phlegethon’s malignant wave, 

The greedy worm to live and prey on guilt 

Perpetual. For He knew Whose breath had given 

Immortal life to this our bodily frame, 

A soul from His own lips, that cannot die, 

Nor climb again the sphere, from whence it came, 

Once sin-stained, but must sink within th’ abyss 

That burns for ever. Like immortal years 

To worm and flame and punishment He gave, 

That, as the soul should never die, the pang 

Should know no death. The tortures waste and feed 

Their food eternal. Death itself forsakes 

Their ceaseless groanings, and bids live and weep. 
But, far remote, in fields of Paradise, 

The prescient Majesty to spirits pure 

Assigned rewards, to them that know not guilt, 

That look not back upon Gomorrha’s fall, 

But fled with eyes averted from the gloom, 

The wrath to fall upon a wretched world. 

And first with easy flight they reach the stars, 

Whence came God’s breath to move the new-made man. 

For since the downward weight of life no more 

Burdens, nor any bond of iron clogs, 

The glowing spark with speed reclimbs the air, 

And scales the sky anew, glad to forsake 

The limits of the alien prison-house. 

Her child, new come from exile, Faith receives 

To her maternal breasts, and bids enjoy 

Heaven’s pleasures, and recount the many toils 

Known in this caravanserai of flesh. 

There on a couch of purple, soft reclined, 

It tastes the sweetness of eternal flowers 

And quaffs the nectar on its bed of rose. 

While for the rich, whose smoke goes up afar, 

Who thirst for water and the rains of heaven, © 

For all their prayers, it cannot put a hand 

To the parched palate to allay the flame. 

But marvel not, the blesséd and the damned 

Far, far apart are held, and th’ interspace 

Spreads vast between the spheres of bad and good. 


(824—866) 
17—2 


260 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Here are elements from different sources, never mingled before, 
but at least a new realm has been found for Christian art. The 
poem ends with the prayer for a mild sentence upon the poet at 
the last. 

In the Apotheosis we have to do with a series of heretics who 
misrepresent our Lord’s nature. First of all the Patripassian is 
confounded with references to the manifestations of Christ in the 
Old Testament—the common property of the defender of the faith 
from Justin Martyr’s days—though as usual Tertullian is Pru- 
dentius’ more immediate inspiration. Then comes Sabellius, who 
despoils God of Fatherhood by not allowing the Son. Gods are 
many, but does any idolater really believe Jove or dog-faced 
Anubis occupies the supreme throne? Consult barbati deliramenta 
Platonis, and despite cocks owed to Aesculapius, the philosophers 
conclude their arguments with one god’. Christ was at once 
God and man. It is only in Christ we understand Rome’s 
history. 

Then the Jew has his turn and is confronted with legis in 
effigie scriptum per enigmata Christum, and our poet grows eloquent 
as he demands to know in what literature Christ is not now 
famous: all the languages of Pilate’s inscription proclaim Him ; 


Hebraeus pangit stilus, Attica copia pangit, 
pangit et Ausoniae facundia tertia linguae; (379) 


and he rehearses the triumphs of the cross among Scythians, Goths, 
Moors, and the world over, and the silencing of the world’s oracles, 
Delphi, Dodona, Ammon and so forth, at the birth of Christ, adding 
a tale of his boyhood, how the heathen rites of Julian were baulked 
by a German page who wore a cross. ‘The exiled Jew is being 
punished for the death of Christ. With this he turns to the 
Psilanthropists—Homuncionites or Mannikinists as he calls them— 
and confronts them with our Lord’s miracles, for which he goes 
by preference to St John’s Gospel, as that one of the four which 
most clearly sets forth the deity of Christ. He discusses the nature 
of the soul, which is made and not begotten by God, yet is not 
corporeal (in corpore discas rem non corpuream) as was supposed 


1 This flout at the philosopher is in Tertullian’s vein, who mocked but~ 
studied. Prudentius perhaps had no Greek. Neither had Augustine nor 
Ausonius very much. The Greek titles of the books may be a fanciful imita- 
tion of Virgil. 

2 Brockhaus, p. 23, ingeniously makes the boy a German on account of his 
hair—e cuneo puerorum flavicomantum, 


Prudentius 261 


by many in his day, eg. by Augustine in earlier life, In this 
connexion he drops at least one memorable line, 


sed speculum deitatis homo est. (834) 


Lastly he deals with the Docetists who held Christ was a 
phantasm, and really strikes out a fresh thought and a noble one. 


Et quid agit Christus si me non suscipit? aut quem 
liberat infirnum si dedignatur adire 
carnis onus, manuumque horret monumenta suarum ? (1020) 


These lines may be paralleled by Browning’s 


I never realized God’s birth before— 
How he grew likest God in being born. 


Tantus amor terrae, he continues, tanta est dilectio nostri. So much 
for the purely theological works of Prudentius. 

We now come to his book Peri Stephanon or The Crowns— 
a set of fourteen hymns to martyrs, of very various metres and 
merits. Many of the Saints are Spanish, so many as to give confir- 
mation to the statement of his own Spanish origin. Others he had 
found on his travels—painted in sacred pictures in churches, com- 
memorated by local usage, or told of in Damasus’ inscriptions. 
Thus he chiefly depends on verbal as against written traditions, 
and a curious confusion hangs about his stories here and there. 
Notably this is the case with Romanus and more strangely still 
with Cyprian, for he has patched together incongruous legends 
to the exclusion of real facts, actually confusing the great Cyprian 
of Carthage with the converted magician Cyprian of Antioch. In 
those hymns specially describing martyrdoms the general scheme 
is a confession, torture and a miracle, but after all it must be 
confessed that martyrology is generally a dull subject, and the 
poet who deals with it is destined to repeat himself like a Poet 
Laureate who makes birthday odes, and to charm as little. Pru- 
dentius however did his best, for he had a Spaniard’s love of the 
Saints and a great enthusiasm for them, and he introduced some 
- new features not all of which are successful. In places his rhetorical 
training shews itself very clearly. 

The best of the hymns is perhaps the second, to St Lawrence, 
a Spaniard and an archdeacon, who suffered at Rome under Decius. 


202 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


The complaint is made by the Praefectus Urbi that the Church 
is hoarding wealth and hunting legacies : 


et summa pretas creditur 
nudare dulces liberos: 


charges if not already true soon to be so. Lawrence has three 
days to produce this wealth, and then brings forward a crowd of 
pensioners, ne pauperem Christum putes. He is then committed to 
the “gridiron,” and thence utters a remarkable hymn from which 
I have already quoted. He foresees (no doubt with the aid of the 
poet’s retrospect) a Christian Rome and a Christian Emperor who 
will close the temples and keep as works of art what now are idols. 
The hymn ends with a picture of the lights of the Senate, sometime 
Luperci and Flamens, kissing the thresholds of martyrs’ shrines, 
while afar beyond Alps and Pyrenees the Spanish poet sees the 
saint in heaven and implores his grace. 
Audi benignus supplicem 
Christi reum Prudentium. 

One or two of the hymns border on the grotesque through the 
exaggeration of the poet, who has, as M. Boissier says, le gout de 
Vhorrible. He is apt too to be carried away by admiration for the 
un-Christian mania for martyrdom which led many early Christians 
to insult their neighbours and provoke authority—to the great peril 
of the Church, which condemned this unnecessary and dangerous 
zeal’, The story of St Eulalia, a child martyr of Emerita, is told 
trippingly in a dactylic metre, roughly the first half a Virgilian 
hexameter, which we also find in Ausonius*. Germine nobilis 
~Eulalia was a sadly precocious child who would be martyred, in 
very truth a torva puellula. She insulted the praetor, declaimed 
at large on idolatry, spat at the unhappy magistrate who was 
really very gentle with her, kicked over the idols and thuribles, 
and so achieved a martyrdom, the details of which a Spanish and 
rhetorical poet could hardly be expected to spare us*, The story 


1 See Dale, Synod of Elvira, p. 30. This Spanish Council (about 306) 
forbade voluntary and aggressive martyrdom within a decade (say) of Eulalia’s 
exploit. It is interesting, in this connexion, to note first, that St Theresa in 
1522, while still a little girl, had a similar childish ambition to be martyred by 
the Moors, which was happily frustrated, for she grew to be one of the most 
useful and sensible women in Spain; and second, that Eulalia’s name is still 
familiar in Spain, being borne to-day by one of the King’s sisters. 

2 Sixt (p. 30) finds in the metre (as well as in the story) ‘‘etwas schwirmer- 
isches” and a certain ‘‘stiirmisches Ungestiim.” 

3 Compare Claudian’s ‘‘dissection of Rufinus” as Gibbon calls it. Boissier, 
F, P. ii. 122, compares the Tragedies of the Spaniard Seneca. 


Prudentius 263 


of St Cassianus the schoolmaster, delivered over for death to his 
schoolboys, is amusing ; but while Prudentius took a pleasure in 
a rhetorical elaboration of it he also felt it seriously, for when 
he saw a picture of it all at Forum Cornelii on his way to Rome, 
he was moved to prayer. His prayer was granted, and he wrote 
this poem in grateful memory of it. One of the poems (iv.) is 
a tour de force, perhaps in imitation of Martial’s little epigram 
(i. 62), on the towns of Italy and Spain and their literary glories, 
but for poets Prudentius puts saints. The cities appear before 
Christ on the Judgment-day bringing their saints, and Caesar- 
augusta, the poet’s own town, surpasses them all with no less than 
eighteen martyrs crowded into sapphic verse—a great achievement, 
but scarcely poetry. The worst poem of the collection, as a work 
of art, is the martyrdom of St Romanus. The poet has made the 
mistake of developing the usual confession of a martyr into an 
elaborate polemic against heathenism along with an exposition of 
Christianity. These are drawn mainly from Tertullian, and are 
witty and effective in their way, but forensic rather than philo- 
sophic. They are also quite out of place and terribly delay the 
action. The saint in a speech of two hundred and sixty lines 
denounces heathenism, and even when his tongue is cut out, he talks 
on for hundreds of lines more. A ridiculous episode in this poem 
is that of another lamentably precocious child, who knows a good 
deal too much Theology and Physiology for his seven years, and 
who, when a familiar remedy fails 
. (pusionem praecipit 
sublime tollant et manu pulsent nates), 

is put to death, while his mother sings a psalm to encourage him. 
Romanus was a real historic character, but Eusebius’ account of 
his martyrdom (M. P. 2) is more reasonable. A poem on St 
Hippolytus’ gives an interesting account of the Catacombs, which 
had become under Damasus’ care a centre of interest for Christian 
pilgrims, and with their traditions and pictures greatly influenced 
Prudentius. The hymn to St Peter and St Paul, with descriptions 
of their churches in Rome, is interesting and valuable as con- 
temporary evidence on these famous places then recently built. 

Τὸ is quite clear that the poet shares the popular view of the 
Christian church of his day as to the saints. He had not the 


1 The catacomb of Hippolytus was found by de Rossi in 1881, but the picture 
which inspired Prudentius’ poem has not survived. Sixt, p. 35. 


264 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


uneasiness of Augustine, but after all the Christian faith meant 
more to Augustine in spiritual and intellectual implication than 
to any of his contemporaries’. 

The Psychomachia, which perhaps in view of the likenesses 
it presents to Bunyan we may translate Holy War, has been 
pronounced the richest of his works in colour and _ brilliance. 
It was the most widely read of them all in the Middle Ages, which 
means a good deal, for Prudentius was then one of the most 
popular authors. No one was more universally read and imitated, 
and no books, with the exception of the Bible, were so abundantly 
provided with Old High German glosses as the Daily Round and 
the Peri Stephanon. This book however has also great significance 
from its influence on medieval art”. 

The book may be considered from two points of view. It may 
represent the progress and victory of virtue in the individual soul, 
and no doubt it does, but it also suggests the victory of the faith 
in the Roman world. The vices described are especially those 
characteristic of Rome. Pride, for example, plumes itself on 
military glory, and has the greatest scorn for the various unwarlike 
and unmanly virtues of peaceful Christianity (ll. 237—9). Luxury 
“coming from the West” (clearly Rome) has all the air of that 
Roman luxury and licence described by Jerome and Ammianus 
Marcellinus (ll. 310 ff.). Avarice “doffs the arms of hell and 
transforms herself to fairness; she becomes a Virtue, stern of mien 
and garb, whom they call thrift (/rwgi), who loves to live carefully 
...and calls theft and covetousness by a sweet name, forethought 
for the family ” (Il. 551—563)—i.e. Avarice is the crowning virtue 
of the Sabine farmer of the good old days. 

The War is a series of single conflicts between Virtues and 
Vices, in which the former invariably win. Lust is overcome by 
Modesty by the virtue of the Virgin birth of our Lord: 


inde omnis jam diva caro est quae concipit illum ; (76) 
majestate quidem non degenerante per usum 
carnis sed miseros ad nobiliora trahente. (80) 


Patience waits for Anger to fall of itself. Pride stumbles into 


1 Aug. de moribus eccl. cath. 34, 75 Novi multos esse sepulehrorum et pictura- 
rum adoratores ; novi multos esse qui luxuriosissime super mortuos bibant et epulas 
cadaveribus exhibentes super sepultos seipsos sepeliant et voracitates ebrietatesque 
suas deputent religioni...nec mirum est in tanta copia populorum. 

2 See Brockhaus, pp. 36, 165 n., and Schmitz, Die Gedichte des P. und ihre 
Entstehungszeit, p. 9. 


Prudentius 265 


a pit (which had been dug by Deceit), after reviling Humility and 
her sister graces ; : 


Justitia est οὐδὲ semper egens, et pauper Honestas. 


Luxury, gorgeously described as she rides to the fray, comes nearer 
winning the day, but is overthrown by Sobriety, who displays the 
Veaillum sublime crucis,—a favourite theme with Prudentius, who 
has a pride in referring to the Cross, especially as a symbol of the 
victory of Christianity. It is the triumphant cross of the labarum, 
the monogram A which Constantine made Rome’s standard, to 
which the dragon-flags, so often to be found in Claudian and 
Ammianus and elsewhere, have had to bow’. It may seem strange 
to us that he has so little to say of the cross in its relation to 
Christ’s death, in its theological significance, or as an emblem of 
Christian suffering. 

Lastly, as I have said, Heresy is slain by Faith and torn in 
pieces as the soldiers tore Rufinus in Claudian’s poem. Then, 
after eulogies on peace, recalling St Paul’s chapter on Charity 
(1. 769—787), a temple is built to the design of the Apocalypse, 
with gates and jewels as there described. Altogether it is a bright 
and interesting work, though one is startled to find how Homerically 
the Virtues treat the fallen Vices. 

The Cathemerinon or Daily Round is a collection of hymns 
for the Christian’s day, made more various and instructive by 
long but acceptable and often impressive digressions into Christian 
doctrine and Scripture story, which are often only very loosely, 
if at all, connected with the immediate theme, and are further 
developed in the same way themselves. Thus the hymns are not 
adapted for singing in church, like those of Ambrose, which were 
clearly their original inspiration, and the influence of which is 
visible in them, especially in the first two. Prudentius however 
does not seem to have meant his poems to be sung in church by 
common worshippers, but to be read by persons of more or less 
education. Yet while none of them has apparently ever been sung 
at length, most of them have contributed to Christian hymnology, 
for passages have been taken from them and used as hymns. ‘The 
Roman breviary contains about a dozen of these abbreviated hymns, 
three for example being carved out of Prudentius’ twelfth. The 

1 See Claudian, In Ruf. ii. 363 f.; Amm. Marc. xvi. 10, 7 (an elaborate 
description) and compare Prud. ored. i. 35, 6. For the labarum see Prud. 


Symm., i. 487, and Lactantius, ΤΙ. P. 44. See Brockhaus, 73 ἢ. On the cross 
Neander, Church History, iii. 405 (Bohn). 


266 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


famous hymn to the Holy Innocents, Salvete flores martyrum, and 
the equally famous Jam maesta quiesce querella have thus been 
taken from Prudentius’ poems for Epiphany (xii.) and for the Burial 
of the Dead (x.). 

For poetic touch and thought, for delicacy and brightness, the 
Daily Round ranks with the best of Prudentius’ work. Quotations 
and abstracts never do a poet full justice, but they must suffice. 
The hour of lighting the lamps would hardly seem a promising 
theme for a hymn. But Prudentius strays very happily to the 
burning bush, and thence in Moses’ company to the Red Sea and 
the desert and the fiery pillar, and draws from it all very skilfully 
a parable of Heaven. There are one or two odd little touches in 
the piece, δ... even spirits sub Styge have holiday on Easter Eve’ ; 
candles and lamps are described with some detail and grace, and 
classed as God’s gifts—a pretty thought—for artificial lights are 
given us 

ne nesciret homo spem sibi luminis 
in Christi solido corpore conditam. (Cath. v. 9, 10) 


When he writes a hymn (vi.) for sleep-time, he tells of Joseph 
interpreting dreams in prison and of St John on Patmos. The 
sign of the cross on brow and heart before going to bed will keep 
one safe from evil dreams and evil demons. 

The hymn “for all hours” is a remarkably graceful poem in 
trochaic tetrameters, setting forth Christ’s glory as shewn by the 
fulfilment of prophecy in His earthly life. Sprung from the Father’s 
heart before the world was, He is Alpha and Omega, creator, 
redeemer and judge. His birth of the Virgin, His Miracles, told 
briefly one by one and with vigour, and lastly and chiefly His 
Descent into Hell are sung in turn. It is not the suffering so 
much as the triumph of the Cross which the poet emphasizes. 
While sun and stars in our sky hide themselves, He bursts the 
bars of Hell and with yellow light floods the caves of death. The 
wiles of the Serpent have been in vain, his poison fails him, he 
drops his hissing neck. The fathers and the holy ones rise with 
joy, leave the tombs, and follow Christ as He rises a victor to 
the tribunal of the Father, bearing back the peerless glory of 


1 This hymn has been held to refer specially to the Easter vigil, a view not 
without some plausibility, but the poet makes no definite reference to it, and 
some antiquarians maintain it was not a practice of his day; Brockhaus, 
pp. 87—8. Sixt, p. 11, holds that the hymn was not written for the vigil but 
that the poet after his digressive manner touches on it in verses 137—140. 


Prudentius 267 


His passion to heaven, from whence He shall come yet again as 
Judge. This Second Coming still held the minds of men, and 
Prudentius tells of it in the hymn for sleep-time (v. 81—100), and 
yet again in that for the Nativity (xi.), with something of the 
majesty of the Dies Irae itself. 


Peccator, intueberis 
celsum coruscis nubibus, 
dejectus ipse et writis 
plangens reatum fletibus. 


Cum vasta signum bucina 
terris cremandis miserit, 
et scissus axis cardinem 
mundi ruentis solverit ; 


Insignis ipse et praeminens 
meritis rependet congrua, 
his lucis usum perpetis, 

_ tllis gehennam et tartarum. 


(Cath. xi. 101—112) 


The descent into Hell is the subject of a striking hymn 
of Synesius, and is told in still more impressive prose by an 
unknown Greek writer, whose work is now imbedded in the 
so-called Gospel of Nicodemus’. But the Last Judgment seems 
to have appealed far more to the Latin than to the Greek mind, 
as no one need be told who has read the terrible last chapter 
of Tertullian’s de Spectaculis. And Tertullian, one might, almost 
say, was as much Prudentius’ “ master” as he was Cyprian’s. 

A few stanzas from the hymn “ Before Meat” (iii.), translated 
into English as closely as adherence to the original metre will 
allow (the original is of course not rhymed), may give some im- 
pression of the poet’s manner of treating his subjects in his various 
lyrical poems, though this one is not his strongest. The grace 
of the Latin must not be expected. 


Cross-bearer, kindly one, giver of light, 

Maker of all things, and friend of most worth, 
Born of the Word, of immaculate birth, 
Equal of old with the Father in might, 

Ere there was heaven or ocean or earth. 


1 See the abstract on pp. 378—381. 


208 


Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Come, for salvation is found in Thy smile, 

Come and behold with beneficent gaze, 

Giving us peace, as the bountiful rays 

Stream from Thy face, that our banquet the while 
Lit by Thy presence may be to Thy praise. 


Come, Lord, for nothing without Thee is sweet, 
Pleasure is none, there is nothing save gall, 

If Thy good favour, O Christ ! Thou recall, 
Savoureth nought of our drink or our meat— 
Faith be the sanctification of all. 


God be it still that we taste in each dish, 
Christ in the cup may our spirits descry :— 
Matter or mirth—the light jests as they fly— 
All that we are, every act, every wish, 

Be by the Trinity ruled from on ‘high. 


What would I now with the spoils of the rose? 
Wherefore the fragrance of odours outpoured ? 
Ours the true wine, the ambrosia, flows ; 

Faith is the nectar the Christian heart knows, 
Borne to us straight from the heart of the Lord. 


Not for light ivy, sweet Muse, calls the time, 
Erewhile the garland thou wontest to wear ; 
Thread with the dactyl a coronet fair, 

Weaving a mystical chaplet of rhyme, 

Bind with the praise of the Saviour thy hair’ 


What shall a soul of such origin ask, 

Born to the aether and child of the light? 
Where shall it find it so worthy a task, 
Praising its Maker, His gifts to recite— 
All the soul’s music the theme shall unite. 


He, it is He, to us all things doth yield, 

Rulers of all He hath framed us to be; 

All that the earth or the sky or the sea 

Bears in the flood or the air or the field, 

These He made mine; for Himself He made me. 


Birds the dark craft of the fowler ensnares, 
Whether the gin be his wile or the net, 
Or the limed twigs for his quarry be set ; 
Once the winged creatures alight unawares, 
Caught in the tangle no freedom they get. 


1 This stanza has been cited as evidence for the supposition, a priori most 
probable, that Prudentius had served his apprenticeship in poetry on themes 
which were not distinctively sacred. Sixt, p. 21. 


Prudentius 269 


Lo! through the waters with fold upon fold 

Nets sweep the wandering swarms of the main ; 
Whipped from the stream the fish struggles in vain, 
Ne’er shall it make the fell hook loose its hold ; 
Pleasure the silly mouth sought and found pain. 


Lavish the bounty the rich acres bring ; 
Ours the full ears of the cornland’s increase, 
Ours the luxuriant vineyards that fling 
Tendril and twig forth to cluster and cling: 
Ours the green olive the nurseling of peace. 


God of His bounty in Christ giveth all, 

All things are ours, all our wants he supplies ; 
Far be from us the fell hunger that cries 

Asking the death of the ox of the stall, 

Lusting for flesh though the life-blood should fall. 


Be the fierce banquet for races untamed ! 
They may eat flesh, who in savagery live ; 
Never ’mid us be such cruelty named ! 
Lettuce and bean for our feeding were framed, 
Guileless the banquet the garden shall give. 


From the banquet of innocence the poet passes to the garden 
of man’s innocence, and tells of Adam and Eve and the serpent; 
of the fall of man and the virgin birth of Christ. Let it be enough 
that man has once fallen; now let temperance preserve him, for 
there is another life and we shall rise again because Christ has risen. 

The Dittochaeon is a series of quatrains designed to explain 
sacred pictures in some church or churches. They have some 
importance in the history of Christian art but not of literature. 

We come lastly to the great work Against Symmachus. From 
Augustus’ day onward a statue of Victory had stood in the 
Senate House, and at every meeting of the Senate an offering was 
made to it. But on his visit to Rome in 357 Constantius had 
image and altar removed. Julian restored them. ‘T'wenty years 
later Gratian removed them again in 382. The heathen members 
of the Senate presented to him a petition for the restoration of 
the altar and the goddess, but were refused admission to his 
presence. ‘This rejection was due to the Christian Senators, who 
through Pope Damasus communicated with St Ambrose. When 
Gratian was killed by Maximus, they made a further appeal in 
384 to Valentinian IJ. Symmachus presented their case in a 
speech which survived and was so greatly and so generally admired, 
that Ambrose, after prevailing on the Emperor to decline to take 


270 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


action, felt obliged to write a reply. Victory once more took her 
place during the rebellion of Arbogast and Eugenius (393) and 
was removed by Theodosius on his overthrowing the usurpers 
(394). This altar was thus the standard of paganism, which could 
hardly indeed hope to recapture the world but had a sentimental 
feeling for retaining this last emblem. Even in 400 and again 
in 404 Claudian was at special pains in his poetry to emphasize 
that Victory was a goddess and one to whom Rome was deeply 
indebted. So vital was the controversy. Symmachus’ petition was 
still read and admired, and offered a fair opportunity for attack. 
Even later than this, beginning in 410 after the fall of Rome, 
Augustine thought it worth while to spend years on the last 
great refutation of heathenism, the De Civitate Dei, and to com- 
mission Orosius to compile his history of the world’s calamities 
to shew that the effect of Christianity had been to Jessen them. 

Symmachus’ petition may be very briefly analysed. He pled 
for the restoration of the altar to the goddess, even though she 
were but a name (nwmen and nomen), and of various immunities 
to priests and vestals, which had just been taken away. It was 
not a question between this and that religion. Everyone to his 
taste and custom in religion. Every nation had its tutelary genius, 
and Rome had hers. Let not antiquity go for nothing. The great 
mystery of life could hardly be discovered by one line of search. 
Rome personified pled for her old usages, for the Vestals and their 
due, out of gratitude if for no other reason. In fact, famine and 
disaster marked heaven’s disapproval—not, of course, of the Em- 
peror’s new religion, but of the neglect of the old religion. 

To this St. Ambrose made a vigorous reply. The old rites 
had not, as alleged, defended Rome—from Hannibal and the Gauls, 
for example. Rome personified resents her victories being put 
down to aught but her valour. She is not ashamed to be converted 
in her old age. As for the great mystery God’s voice reveals it 
to us. Contrast seven Vestals with the multitude of Christian 
virgins. Heavy burdens lay on Christian priests who must sur- 
render their taxable property on ordination, while the wealth of 
the Church was the revenues of the indigent. Why had the famine 
been so slow in following its cause? As for antiquity everything 
advanced ; agricultural methods were bettered ; man himself grew ; 
even Rome had adopted foreign rites. The temples never helped 
Pompey, Cyrus or Julian, victory being more a matter of legions 
than religions—the bishop here anticipating Napoleon. 


Prudentius 271 


In 404 Prudentius published his two books of hexameters on 
the same theme. Boissier is right in saying the world was not 
fully converted and men of letters were still heathen in their 
libraries, and that a literary presentment of Christianity was still 
sighed for by Christians of education’, Ambrose’s reply was not 
after all a match for the eloquence of Symmachus in the eyes 
of people of taste, though he had out-manceuvred the orator with 
the Emperor. 

Prudentius begins by saying Plato’s dream of philosophers for 
kings is realized in Christian Emperors, and proceeds to exhibit the 
heathen Pantheon, as Tertullian had done before. Heathenism is 
so long-lived because of early training, and he has a fine passage 
on the heathen associations of childhood and growing years opening 
out with further initiation into pagan rites. For a thousand genera- 
tions Superstition was unchecked, and the tiny heir of the house 
trembled and worshipped whatever his hoary grandsires displayed 
for his veneration. He drank in error with his mother’s milk ; his 
first food was the sacred meal, his earliest sight the sacred candles 
and the family gods growing black with holy oil. As a little child, 
he saw the image of Fortune with her horn, and his mother pale 
at her prayers before the sacred stone ; and he too would be lifted 
by his nurse to kiss it in his turn. ΤῸ it he made his baby prayers. 
Without the house he saw the gods laurel-crowned on days of 
festival and gala-days, and above all he was taught to worship 
Rome (c. Symm. i. 197—214). 

He assails the gladiatorial games, and narrates the story of 
Theodosius’ homily to the Senate after the fall of Arbogast and 
of the Senate’s conversion”, and how sua secula Roma erubuit, and 
finally tells Symmachus that to a Christian Emperor he owes his 
rise in the world. So much for the first book. It is interesting 
throughout to remark the kindly and respectful way in which 
Prudentius always speaks of Symmachus. Courtesy is not always 
the mark of Christian controversy in the fathers. 

In the second book he repeats Ambrose’s points about victory 
won by labor impiger, aspera virtus, about progress and other 

1 At the beginning of the century Lactantius made the same complaint, 
Instit. v. 1 Haec inprimis causa est cur apud sapientes et doctos et principes 
hujus seculi scriptura sancta fide careat, quod prophetae communi ac simplici 
sermone ut ad populum sunt locuti...adeo nihil verum putant nisi quod auditu 
suave est ; nihil credibile nisi quod potest incutere voluptatem. nemo rem veritate 
ponderat sed ornatu. non credunt ergo divinis quia fuco carent. 


2 Zosimus, iv. 58, says none of the senators was converted, but then Zosimus 
did not wish them to be and Prudentius did. 


272 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


things, but adds much of his own which is better and undreamt 
of by Ambrose. Once more he approximates to Browning : 


nonne hominem et pecudem distantia separat una ? 
quod bona quadrupedum ante oculos sita sunt: ego contra 
spero. 
Progress, man’s distinctive mark alone, 
Not God’s, and not the beasts’: God is, they are, 
Man partly is and wholly hopes to be. 


If there is no future, he continues in fine declamation, let us eat 
and drink and break every law at once. Where Symmachus intro- 
duced Rome as speaking, Prudentius introduces God Himself telling 
of man’s creation, end and resurrection, and pleading for a temple 
of mind not marble. Curiously enough, here as elsewhere, Pru- 
dentius does not mention truth as belonging to the spiritual 
temple. He makes great game of the genius of Rome, and of 
immigrant gods—some of whom Claudian had recently held up 
as Rome’s guardians (p. 239). 


Non divum degener ordo 
et patria extorris Romanis adfuit armis. (535—6) 


To allow this was treason to Rome—it diminished her glory. 


Non fero Romanum nomen sudataque bella 
et titulos tanto quaesitos sanguine carpi. (550—1) 


Rather it was God who had made Rome for His own ends, that 
Rome might make mankind one, and so prepare the way for Christ. 
Rome too is personified, congratulating herself on having sloughed 
off her former taints, on being free from danger from the Goths, 
through Christ and His servants,—the Emperor and Stilicho, who 
had just won the victory over the Goths at Pollentia’ (402). The 
Gauls had once captured Rome despite her gods, but now she 
knows the Goths only by the hearing of the ear, and (vividly 
drawn by the poet) she bids the Emperor climb the triumphal car 
and come to Rome with Christ beside him. 

As for the many ways to the great mystery, one is right if 
rough and hard, and the others are wrong if pleasant, and his 
language recalls Hesiod. The famine! nobody goes to the Circus 


1 Was Pollentia a victory? Claudian’s contemporary explanations to prove 
that it was have made it seem doubtful. That it was a Roman defeat, as the 
Goths have claimed, Prudentius’ words prohibit our supposing. 


Prudentius 273 


hungry! and he concludes with an entreaty for the abolition of 
the gladiatorial shows— ἢ 
nullus in urbe cadat cujus sit poena voluptas'. (1125) 


It is interesting to compare the panegyric written almost at 
the same time by Claudian for Honorius’ sixth consulship. There 
we have a splendid procession with cataphracts (armoured cavalry) 
and dragon-standards and all that is gorgeous. But for huc Christo 
comitante veni we read of “ winged Victory, guardian of the Roman 
toga, coming herself to her shrines ”—a tacit defiance to those who 
had driven the goddess from the Senate. We find a grand eques- 
trian display in the Circus, but no such plea for mercy for the 
wretched as that with which the Christian poet crowns his poem. 

This rapid sketch must suffice for the works of Prudentius, but 
a few points of style remain to be considered. He has been harshly 
criticized for the characteristic faults of his training, and of his 
age. He has confessed that he received a training in rhetoric 
and that he had been an advocate. He had the resultant weak- 
nesses. In his polemics against heathenism, the poet is sometimes 
subordinated to the advocate, who has taken his brief from Ter- 
tullian and drives home his points with the same keen, but hardly 
poetic, energy. He urges as it were the conviction of the gods 
on charges which involve heavy penalties under Roman law. The 
immorality and sensuality attributed by legend to the gods rather 
than the fundamental weaknesses of the Pantheon are attacked. 
Again, he still suffers, like Claudian and others of his contempo- 
raries, from rhetoric. All the rhetoric-bred poets declaim from 
Lucan onward. They cannot break loose from the school. They 
lack imagination and balance, and are carried away by language. 
Prudentius does not always know when to leave off. One, or two 
examples will serve. A common taunt against the heathen gods 
is that they betrayed their own lands to Rome. This is how 
Prudentius sets it. 

Juppiter ut Cretae domineris, Pallas ut Argis, 
Cynthius ut Delphis, tribuerunt omine dextro. 
Isis Nilicolas, Rhodios Cytherea reliquit, 
venatriz Ephesum virgo. Mars dedidit Hebrum ; 
destituit Thebas Bromius, concessit et ipsa 
Juno suos Phrygiis servire nepotibus Afros. 
Adv. Symm. ii, 489. 
1 Compare Wordsworth :— 


Never to blend our pleasure or our pride 
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. 


274 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


When speaking of the way which does not lead to the great 
mystery and of its ramifications, he spends seventeen lines in 
detailing some thirteen forms of heathenism—the worship of 
Bacchus, Cybele, etc. Again the Star in the East outshone the 
Zodiac, and we have some twelve lines describing how each of 
nine signs was affected, and the sun too. Contrast Horace’s 
moderation when Astrology tempted him to prolixity. The jewel 
gates of the New Jerusalem at the end of the Holy War take 
fifteen lines, as jewel after jewel is invoiced. He actually adds 
the price of one of them, which had cost Faith a thousand talents. 

But this is not all. For besides what may be called relevant 
overloading, we have overloading which is irrelevant. Prudentius 
could tell a story and could not refrain. So we have plentiful 
digressions into stories, interesting and well told, but aside from 
the main theme. They are generally Biblical. Brockhaus finds an 
excuse for the Biblical digressions in the plea that Prudentius 
wrote for the instruction of educated Christian people and under 
the influence of Christian art, selecting for poetic treatment espe- 
cially those stories which were painted in catacomb and church. 
These were in his own mind and he knew they would be familiar 
to his readers. ‘‘”Tis the taught already that profits by teaching.” 

Though his sententiae are often crisp and clear, he has a 
tendency at times to draggle—whether from exuberance or from 
impatience of correction. Claudian is superior to him in precision 
and edge. 

While in hexameters Prudentius seems fairly strong, in argu- 
mentative passages, like Lucretius and Juvenal, he is almost 
bound to drop into ending lines with quadrisyllables or pairs of 
disyllables—especially when he expounds the Trinity—and the 
effect is not happy. His quantities, though generally, are not 
always classical—Greek diphthongs and long vowels being often 
shortened, ¢.g. rhomphaealis, haeresis, Paraclitum ; and short vowels 
lengthened, ¢.g. charisma, catholicus (too tempting a word metri- 
cally), sophia. 

His spondaic hexameters are fairly numerous and not very 
impressive. ‘They are more like Juvenal’s than Virgil’s. His pen- 
tameters are weak. I do not find his alliterations very dignified 
or always very musical. 

On the other hand, he is a master of narrative clear-cut and 
effective. His language is often graceful and pointed, and he brings 
out his thoughts well. His prologues, for example, are excellent. 


Prudentius 275 


Metrically he has some redeeming qualities, which it is well to 
recognize. His hexameters are varied and easy, and his elisions 
frequent enough to relieve monotony without producing roughness. 
He is in this respect a wonderful- contrast to Juvencus, whose lines 
are all alike and all lacking in elision. In fine, if Prudentius’ 
hexameters lack the highest finish (as it must be confessed they 
do), they are still telling and vigorous and hang well together. 
He employs, besides, a considerable number of lyrical metres and 
handles them like a master. Many of them are Horatian, and 
the rest may be paralleled in contemporary poets. 

I have already remarked that the critics are divided in their 
preferences, some preferring his work in the style of Virgil and 
Lucretius, others his lyrical poetry, and both parties can say a 
good deal for their views. In other words, the poet has been 
successful in both styles. The more one studies his contemporaries 
the more one admires him. Spiritually and intellectually he far 
outstrips the heathen poets, and in poetic insight, grace and 
mastery of his material he is far above the Christians. 

Of his indebtedness to previous poets, particularly to Virgil, 
much might be written. I will content myself with remarking that 
I have found a number of direct imitations, or perhaps echoes, 
of Juvenal ; one or two cases of the influence of Propertius and 
Lucan; some of Lucretius; and rather more of indebtedness to 
Horace. To Virgil his debt is naturally very much greater. He 
knew him well as scores of passages shew. Some are cases of 
undisguised pilfering’: ¢.g. 


Christe graves hominum semper miserate labores. Psych. 1. 

Phoebe graves Trojae semper miserate labores. Aen. vi. 56. 
Others are more honest reminiscences or echoes : 

Martis congressibus impar. Psych. 549. 

impar congressus Achilli. Aen. i. 475. 

ad astra doloribus itur. ‘ Cath. x. 92. 

sie itur ad astra. Aen. ix. 641. 


Others again would be less marked if not so numerous,.¢g. such 

phrases as Psych. 40 gramineo in campo, 41 fulget in armis, 49 

adacto transadigit gladio, which are Virgil’s: others less con- 
spicuous are metrical parallels if the phrase may be allowed: e.g. 
 funalis machina. Psych. 866. fatalis machina. Aen. ii. 237. 
femina provocat arma virum. Steph. iii. 36. 

1 Sixt however goes too far, I think, when he calls the Psychomachia ‘‘almost 
acento.” Compare Aen. vi. 640 with Catullus lxiv, 39, for a loan as patent. 


18—2 


276 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Again there are instances of what I may call deliberate quotation : 
e.g. when Theodosius comes to Rome as a Christian victor and 
the Empire becomes Christian : 


denique nec metas statuit, nec tempora ponit ; 
imperium sine fine docet, etc. Adv. Symm. i. 542. 


This same Virgilian influence is found in very many Latin poets, 
and is not at all extraordinary when we remember that Virgil is 
the one book which has never yet been out of the schools since 
Tucca and Varius published the Aeneid. 

One source of inspiration, from which we might have expected 
him to draw, he ignores. The poetry of the Psalter was lost to 
him. From the historical books of the Old and the New ‘Testament, 
from Paul and the Apocalypse he borrowed incidents, ideas and 
pictures, but the Psalms and generally the Prophets he ignored. 
The Prophets were unintelligible, the Psalms were uncouth, and 
persons of education shrank from them. Even Ambrose’s recom- 
mendation of Isaiah failed to make Augustine read him through. 
For the Psalms, Augustine tells us of his enjoyment of them as 
a marked proof of his change of feeling. 

“In what accents did I speak to Thee, my God, as I read 
the psalms of David, those faithful songs and sounds of piety 
that exclude the proud spirit... What accents did I utter to 
Thee in those psalms, and how was I inflamed toward Thee by 
them, and kindled to recite them, if possible, the world over, 
against the pride of mankind” (Conf. ix. 4, 8). 

Jerome says much the same (Zp. xxii. 30). “So with a mind 
to read Tully, I used to fast. After a long night of watching, 
after tears which the memory of my former sins brought from my 
inmost being, I would take up Plautus. If ever I came to myself 
and began to read the Prophets, the rough language grated on 
me.” It took an angel with a scourge, he says, to correct his too 
classical taste. So that we need not be surprised if Prudentius 
ignored the Psalms and studied Virgil, as even Jerome did after 
his celestial flagellation. But surely it was a bad sign that the 
education of the day should prevent men of culture from recognizing 
the real worth through the rough translation. 

We have seen something of the Spaniard with his national 
love of and pride in the Spanish saints, his interest in martyrdoms 
and his devotion; of the Roman proud of his Roman citizenship, 
jealous of his country’s honour lest it be usurped by false gods, 


Prudentius 277 


and above all bound up in a Christian Rome and its mission; 
of the man of letters, the poet, the artist ; one side of him remains— 
and that may best be set forth in his own words, in the poem which 
may be taken as the epilogue to his whole collection. When we 
have seen the whole man, and have studied him all round, and 
in relation to his times, we cease to think of the points strange 
and even grotesque to-day, but feel that here is a true man. 


Gifts for God the Father wrought 
To Him true, pure, and holy spirits offer ; 

Gifts of honest mind and thought, 
The riches of a heav’n-blest life they proffer. 


Wealth another man may bring, 
The needs and sorrows of the poor relieving ; 
I, alack, can only sing, 
Swift Trochee and Iambus interweaving. 


Scanty holiness is mine, 

Nor can I help the needy, rich alms flinging ; : 
Yet will deign my Lord Divine 

To lend a Father’s ear to my poor singing. 


In the mansion of the great 

Stand needful furnishments in rack and trestle ; 
Gleams the gold and silver plate, 

The bowl of polished brass and earthen vessel. 


Wrought of precious ivory 

Or carved of oak—or simple elmwood platters— 
What their nature, so each be 

Meet for the Master’s use, it nothing matters. 


There are uses for them all, 
Great cost or small is not of use the token. 
Me within my father’s hall 
Christ found: He came and found me old and broken. 


Yet has Christ a need of me, 

Though but a moment’s space I have my station ; 
Earthen vessel though I be, 

I pass into the Palace of Salvation. 


Be the service ne’er so slight 

God owns it. Then whatever Time is bringing, 
This shall still be my delight 

That Christ has had the tribute of my singing. 


CHAPTER XII 


SULPICIUS SEVERUS 


Caelestem quodammodo laetitiam vultu praeferens. 
Vita Martini 27 

When the priest sees himself vanquished by the prophet, he suddenly 
changes his method. He takes him under his protection, he introduces 
his harangues into the sacred canon, he throws over his shoulders the 
priestly chasuble. The days pass on, the years roll by, and the moment 
comes when the heedless crowd no longer distinguishes between them, and 
it ends by believing the prophet to be an emanation of the clergy. 

This is one of the bitterest ironies of history. 


Pau Sapatier, St Francis of Assisi, Ὁ. xv! 


In the Christian movement as in most other movements of 
mankind two tendencies display themselves in constant reaction 
and interaction, the tendencies to make the group and the individual 
the unit of life. Great conceptions underlie them both. The one 
is that of a society ordered and organized, part answering to part, 
and all parts of one majestic whole, a great imperial system 
embracing mankind, every man in his proper sphere, star differing 
from star in glory but all moving harmoniously on their several 
orbits. The other is that of a life resting on communion with God, 
a life each man must live for himself (for in this relation no inter- 
mediary is tolerable or possible), a life dependent on no system or 
organization but above and beyond the reach and scope of systems 
and their makers, for the wind bloweth where it listeth and so is 
every one that is born of the spirit. Both conceptions, it may be 
said, can be held by the same mind at once, and perhaps under 
ideal circumstances they are not incompatible, but where the 


1 References are made to the translation by Louise Seymour Houghton. 


Sulpicius Severus | 279 


circumstances are not ideal there is apt to be a preference given 
to one as against the other, and the result is often extravagance 
and reaction. 

The story of the Church is full of these alternate reactions. 
St Paul, if any man, stood. for the freedom of the individual to. 
live his own spiritual life, and St Paul wrote the Epistles to the 
Corinthians, for he could not approve an individualism run mad 
and unshackled. Ignatius to correct the disorders of Docetism 
laid stress on episcopal order, and thence came the Catholic Church, 
and within a century reaction came under Montanus who pled for 
the emancipation of the Holy Spirit from the yoke of the bishop. 
Half a century later; when the Roman bishops had denounced 
Montanism and the Church system was crystallizing, the persecution 
of Decius started the same conflict over again between the order of 
the Church and the purity of Christian life, and Novatianus made a 
stand for holiness, though here the Catholic principle asserted itself 
and he organized the great Puritan Church of the Novatians. With 
the triumph of Constantine came the triumph of the Church, the 
Nicene and the following Councils, and the age of Court bishops 
and metropolitans, when the Church was deluged by a secular 
society, when bishops fought for creeds and richer sees, when 
spiritual arms were reinforced by material and the victories of faith 
were changed for those of George and Damasus, whose followers 
made him Pope at the cost of one hundred and thirty-seven lives. 
Reaction might have been expected and it duly came. It was at 
this time, we are told, that the monastic communities of the 
Egyptian god Serapis were converted to Christianity, and simul- 
taneously there appeared in the same regions and among men of 
the same race, the Coptic race, the earliest Christian monachism. 
Antony and Paul are nowadays dismissed very properly from 
history to the realm of fiction. But at all events now was the day 
when Christians began to take to the desert to seek there that 
perfection and holy living they found impossible in the Church life 
of the cities. If the movement began with the Copts, it did not 
end with them. It spread the world over. And then reaction, 
for the monks, the individualists of the Church of the day, and 
wild and extreme ones too, began very soon to organize, and we 
read that in the Egyptian deserts the first of virtues was obedience 
to the Abbot under any and every circumstance—a virtue, experi- 
ence would shew, of somewhat doubtful worth. Later on St Benedict 
organized the monks of the West. With each fresh outburst of 


280 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


spiritual life there followed a new order. Friars were the sign of a 
revolt against the monasteries, as they had been and were against 
the bishops, for the religious orders were subject to the Pope and 
independent of the local episcopate’. The Reformation was a great 
revolt of the individual against bishop and monk and friar, and 
when it imposed English prelate and Scotch presbyter on the 
Church, George Fox led a great revolt against both, as later on 
John Wesley did likewise in spite of himself. Both organized fresh 
societies, with very different degrees of individual freedom in thought 
and worship. Here it would be well to halt, though it should be 
remarked in the case of all these movements that, while they 
represent the desire for higher life, there are rarely wanting men 
whose character might give ground for believing that revolts and 
secessions are unnecessary for the maintenance of Christian piety, 
or, at all events, that nowhere is there a monopoly in holy living. 
The fourth century witnessed a great change, startling and 
almost dramatic, but yet neither so astonishing nor so great as 
might seem at first sight. It was, at least to those who can look 
back upon it and what preceded it, inevitable. Persecution is a 
clumsy method, and it had failed to crush Christianity, which, it 
was also clear, was proof against all the social, moral and intel- 
lectual attacks the old world could bring against it, and possessed 
too of an assimilative force which drew to it steadily, if slowly, 
the best minds and hearts. The change was inevitable, and yet 
it was by no means so great or complete as it looked. A great 
many among the millions of the Empire were not keenly interested 
in the question of cult, where conduct was free from interference, 
and a conventional and occasional settlement of accounts might 
be made as conveniently with the God of the Christians as with 
any other, provided He, like the other gods, would leave his 
worshipper free in the intervals. When all is said, the religions 
of the ancient world were largely, were chiefly, external—sacrifices, 
lustrations, purifications and other magical rites, and to change 
from them to a magical Christianity meant not very much after 
all. The change to spiritual Christianity was a very different 
matter, but that was not always consequent upon the other. 
Beside these nominal Christians, there were many more honest 


1 Cf, A. V. G. Allen, Christian Institutions, ‘‘ Monasticism never lost its 
inner mood of antagonism to the episcopate; its history is a record of conflicts 
with bishops, of rivalries and jealousies, of defeats and victories, till the Refor- 
mation.” 


Sulpicius Severus 281 


heathen who went their quiet way, bowing to the storm and content 
if allowed to walk in the old paths without let or hindrance. 

If the world was more Christian, the Church was certainly more 
heathen. It had lost many of its best spirits in the persecution 
of Diocletian, and the new recruits by no means made good the loss. 
The laity were more pagan, and the clergy and bishops were pagan 
too in heart, more worldly and less spiritual. While the Church, 
particularly in the East, was busying itself about the definition of 
its fundamental truth, less attention was paid to the common 
virtues, and the bishops rivalled the eunuchs and the freedmen of 
the palace in love of power and wealth and in the questionable 
means they took to secure them. ‘The episcopal office suffered for 
not being the post of peril. The protest of the laity was monach- 
ism. While their guides in things spiritual fought for pomp and 
place, they looked after their own spiritual interests, and found, 
as we read in Sulpicius Severus, that in general they had most to 
fear (after the Devil and his more invisible legions) from the 
bishops. Ammianus, the fairest of historians, had hard things to 
say of the great bishops, yet his charges are more than confirmed 
by the devout Churchman. One Athanasius, one Ambrose, and 
one Augustine mark the century, while there were many of the type 
of Damasus, Ursacius and George’. 

Beside the desire to satisfy spiritual cravings, there was perhaps 
another inducement to embrace the monastic life in that praesentium 
Jastidium we find in Sulpicius. The Roman power in the West 
was nearing its end. ‘Taxation, war, rebellion, extravagance and 
slavery had exhausted the Empire, and men turned from the City 
of Destruction to realize the City of God in the desert and the cell. 
In such times of stress the common expressions of the religious 
instinct are felt to fail and men crave for closer access to the. 
divine. 

St Martin (c. 336—c. 400) was a Pannonian who entered the 
army at the early age of fifteen, was baptized at eighteen, and 
at twenty got his discharge from Julian, then Caesar, and betook 
himself to the monastic life. He was not an educated man, and, 
as we may see, he was terribly credulous and superstitious, but 
he was a great force in Gaul, his adopted country. His kindness, 
his dignity, enhanced rather than lessened by his mean garb and 


1 Even these men had their excellences. George was a scholar, or at least 
had amassed a library which Julian coveted, and Damasus was the antiquarian 
who opened the Catacombs to the pilgrims. 


282 178 and Letters in the Fourth Century 


humble ways, his shrewdness, his language, his seriousness, and 
the awful gravity and the quiet joy' he drew from communion 
with Christ in a life of prayer and imitation, gave him an influence 
and a charm which drew to him the suffering and the sinful, and 
a power that on more than one occasion proved more imperial 
than an Emperor's. He became bishop of Tours, though against 
his will, for it had not been his purpose to be ordained* But 
Hilary of Poictiers, to whom he at first attached himself, failing 
to make him a deacon, made him an exorcist, and later on he was 
captured by a stratagem and consecrated whether he would or no. 
The bishops were unwilling to do it, but the laity would not be 
denied and an accidental sors Biblica clinched the matter. The 
most strenuous of the bishops was one Defensor, and a mistake was 
made in the lesson whereby the words were read, “Out of the 
mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise, because of 
thine enemies, that thou mayest destroy the enemy e¢ defensorem.” 
Martin was “un saint un peu démocratique” as M. Boissier says, 
and he ended, as he began, the poor man’s bishop, just as St Francis 
long afterwards led a spiritual movement rising from the common 
people and recognized by them as their own*®. And Francis also 
refused to become a priest. | 

Such a man was magnetic, and amongst others he drew to him 
Sulpicius Severus, the subject of this essay. We do not know 
much of Sulpicius’ life, probably because there is little to know. 
Gennadius, who includes him in his list of ninety-nine famous men 
which he made to supplement St Jerome’s, only gives us one fact 
which we could not gather from his own writings and the thirteen 
letters addressed to him by Paulinus of Nola, and to that fact 
I shall have to return. 

Sulpicius was born in Aquitaine about the year 363 (according 
to Reinkens), probably of good family, for he had at Bordeaux the 
best education his times could give, he became a pleader and he 
made a great marriage*. His wife was of a wealthy family which 


1 Nemo unquam illum vidit...maerentem, nemo ridentem; unus idemque fuit 
semper caelestem quodammodo laetitiam vultu praeferens (Vita Mart. 27). We 
read a somewhat similar account of Marcus Aurelius:—Hrat enim ipse tantae 
tranguillitatis ut vultum nunquam mutaverit maerore vel gaudio, philosophiae 
deditus Stoicae (Hist. August. M. Antonin. 16)—the difference will be noted 
however. 

2 For an interesting account of this reluctance to be ordained, still a for- 
mality in the Coptic Church, see Stanley, Eastern Church, Lect. vu. 

3 Sabatier, St Francis, p. xvi. 

4 See Paulinus, Ep. v. 5 (to Severus) in ipso adhuc mundi theatro, id est, fori 
celebritate diversans, et facundi nominis palmam tenens...divitiae de matrimonio 


Sulpicius Severus 283 


could boast a consul. Of her we know nothing, unless from his 
grief at her early death and his lifelong affection for her mother 
Bassula, evidently a woman of fine character and kindly nature, 
we may conjecture, “like mother, like daughter.” His wife’s death, 
while he was still a young man with a father living, altered the 
current of his life’. He had given signs of rising in his profession, 
but “from his Tullian letters,” to borrow the phrase of Paulinus’, 
he turned to “the preachings of the fishermen,” and “‘the silence of 
piety.” In less extraordinary language, he turned to St Martin for 
advice, and the Saint advised him to quit the world*®. This he did, 
as Paulinus also had done, cheerfully, gladly, and without regret, 
though it would seem his father resented his action. He settled down 
(about 393) to the life of a monk on some land of his at Toulouse, 
selling all else*. We need not expect much incident in such a life, 
but one or two little details appear. As M. Boissier remarks, ‘‘dans 
le déyot et le moine le lettré survivait.” The man of letters had 
necessities the illiterate among the monks knew not, and we read 
of amanuenses, whom he owed to the kindness of his mother-in- 
law‘, and who, he playfully insinuates, as if in private duty bound, 
supplied her with advance copies of whatever he wrote. His phrase 
implies that these men were slaves, and, in the Dialogue’, Gallus who 
has been “teased” (/atigare) by him on “Gallic edacity” retorts 
with some good-humoured banter about ‘‘somebody” whose un- 
grateful freedman ran off without however making his master very 
angry, and Sulpicius replies that but for so and so “I should be 
very angry.” It is an interesting sidelight on monastic life, but no 


familiae consularis aggestae...post conjugium peccandi libertas et caelebs juventas. 
So ib. 6, 7, references to eloquence. All of which may illuminate his comparison 
of his friend to the Queen of Sheba (§ 2). 

“1 Paulinus, Hp. v. 6 respuens patrimoniorum onera ceu stercorum, merito 
socrum sanctam omni liberaliorem parente in matrem sortitus aeternam, quia 
caelestem patrem anteverteras terreno parenti, exemplo apostolorum relicto patre 
in navicula fluctuante, scilicet in hujus vitae incerto cum retibus rerum suarum et 
implicatione patrimonii derelicto Christum secutus...Piscatorum praedicationes 
Tullianis omnibus [e] tuis litteris praetulisti. Confugisti ad pietatis silentium, 
ut evaderes iniquitatis tumultum. (7) O vere Israelita! 

2 Was it a case of sudden conversion? Paulinus, Hp. v. 5, says repentino 
impetu discussisti servile peccati jugum, and if this is what he means, it fits in 
with much else we know of Severus, but Paulinus loves to shroud his meaning 
. (when he has a meaning) in words—juvat indulgere sermoni, he says. He was 
Ausonius’ pupil. 

3 Paulinus, Ep. xxiv. 3 nec in reservatis praediis possessor et perfectus in 
venditis. 

4 Ep. iii, 2 notarios meos...qui in jus nostrum ex tua potissimum liberalitate 
venerunt. Cf. Paulinus, Ep. v. 6, for Bassula’s generosity socrum sanctam omni 
liberaliorem parente. 

5 Dial. 1. 12, 


284 - Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


one who has read his delightful works will grudge Sulpicius his 
amanuenses ’. 

He was the literary exponent of the movement of which 
St Martin was the prophet, and he shared in the ill-will that 
attended his master. More than once we hear of episcopal dislike 
and perhaps a little mild persecution. At the beginning of the 
Dialogue, Postumian asks after some years of absence whether the 
bishops are still the men they were when he went away*. Sulpicius 
bids him not ask, for they are no better, and his one friend among 
them, who was his one relief from their vexatiousness, is rougher 
than he should be. We get another glimpse at this unpopularity 
of Sulpicius in one of Paulinus’ letters, where the writer presses 
Sulpicius to come and visit him, for one reason urging that by 
being absent for a while he will still the voice of jealousy*. 

The same letters cast some little light on Sulpicius’ life. The 
earlier ones repeatedly invite him to Nola, but he never went. 
Twice, he writes to Paulinus, he meant to come but was stopped 
by illness*. By and by it is pretty clear he does not intend to visit 
his friend at all. He jokingly wrote that he was afraid Paulinus’ 
generosity would soon leave him too poor to repeat the invitation® 
—a jest which plunged Paulinus into a flood of declamation about 
faith, ending in the happy thought that perhaps after all Sulpicius 
had been playful rather than faithless. Sulpicius did a good deal 
of travelling, it would appear, in Gaul’, but he was content to be 
represented in Italy by his servants and his annual letters’. 

When engaged on his Chronicle, Sulpicius wrote in 403 to 
Paulinus for aid, particularly on some points of doubtful chrono- 
logy®, but Paulinus had to confess he was unable to help him. 
History was seemingly too solid a study for the pupil of Ausonius, 
but he did the best he could and passed on his friend’s letter to 
Rufinus. In place of information he sends a declamation on the 
Emperor Theodosius and some hymns he had written to St Felix. 


1 From the letters of Paulinus, it is clear Sulpicius had still pueri to carry 
letters, οἷο, e.g. Ep. v. 1 pueris tuis sancta in Domino tibi servitute conexis; 
xxvil. 3 famulis conservus. Paulinus was rapturous about the loan of a cook, 
an expert in vegetarian cuisine and an adept at the razor (Ep. xxiii.), a lad 
therefore very like Samson. 

2 Dial. i. 2,3 an isti omnes quos hic reliqueram sacerdotes tales sint quales 
608 antequam proficiscerer noveramus ? 

5 Paulinus, Ep. vy. 13 zeli fuga qui maxime conspectu aut vicinia aemulae 
conversationis accenditur. 

4 Paulinus, Ep. v. 8. - 5 Paulinus, Ep. xi. 12. 

6 Paulinus, Ep. xvii. 4. 7 Paulinus, Ep. xxiii. 2, xxviii. 1. 

8 Paulinus, Ep. xxviii. 


Sulpicius Severus 285 


Over and above the letters, other courtesies passed between 
them. Sulpicius sends a camel’s. hair cloth to Paulinus, who 
acknowledges it in a rambling letter’ about camels and the analogy 
of the camel and the needle’s eye to salvation by the cross of Christ, 
and returns a tunic of lamb’s wool made by a saintly lady, Melania, 
and presented to Paulinus by her on her return from a twenty-five 
years’ residence at Jerusalem. He hoped Sulpicius would value it 
the more for his having worn it a little first. By and by? Sulpicius 
asks for a portrait of Paulinus, who is very reluctant (or would have 
it seem so) to send it, but we may surmise it was sent, for a little 
later we read that in a baptistery Sulpicius has been building he has 
painted on the walls St Martin and Paulinus® His correspondent 
is obviously highly pleased, but feels it his duty to make a long and 
rhetorical protest. At Sulpicius’ request he sends him a series of 
verses to inscribe on the walls and something far more precious— 
part of a fragment of the True Cross brought home by St Silvia 
of Aquitaine’. The Cross, he explains, permitted these souvenirs 
to be taken from it without suffering a loss of bulk. Melania ap- 
pears again as sending a choice selection of ashes and other relics. 

Paulinus’ letters are insufferably long and trivial, with one or 
two exceptions. While here and there amid his endless moralizings 
we find a stray fact of interest, the correspondence has this value 
that, beside showing the respect men had for Sulpicius’ character, 
it brings out by contrast his brilliance and worth as a man of 
letters. The two men had had much the same training, had made 
the same’ surrender and lived the same life; but there the likeness 
ends. 

Now and then Sulpicius speaks of himself. Writing to one 
Aurelius, a deacon®, he speaks of himself sitting alone in his little 
cell, “and the line of thought came to me which so often occupies 
me, the hope of things to come and disgust for the present, the fear 
of judgment and the terror of punishment ; and what follows these 
thoughts and is their cause, the recollection of my sins, made me 
sad and weary.” His story of Martin’s discourse and his obvious 
approval of it shew his own temper. ‘His talk was ever, how 
we should leave the seductions of the world and the burdens of the 
age to follow the Lord Jesus free and unhampered: he would 


1 Ep. xxix. 2 Paulinus, Hp. xxx. 

3 Paulinus, Hp. xxxii. 4 Paulinus, Ep. xxxi. 1. 

5 Sulp. Sev. Ep. ii. 1. For the thought cf. Paulinus, cited on p. 124; and 
Prudentius, p. 267. 


986 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


instance the most splendid example of the present day set by the 
famous Paulinus, who by abandoning great wealth and following 
Christ had been almost unique in these times in fulfilling the gospel 
precepts. He was the man we should follow! he was the man to 
imitate! he would exclaim; and the present age was happy in 
possessing such a pattern of faith and virtue, since, as the Lord 
advised, he, though rich and possessing much, had by selling all 
and giving to the poor, made possible by his example what was 
impossible’.” We have seen Sulpicius did as much, and most 
people will prefer him at once as a robust character and a pleasant 
writer. 

For this brings us to his literary work, and throughout it runs 
the glad note. Sin might sadden him, and bishops worry him, but 
the dominant character of his work is its joyousness and brightness. 
A gentle humour plays about it ever and again, and grace and 
delicacy are its constant marks. For it seems established that the 
cheerfullest and sunniest of men are those who for a great cause 
make a great renunciation. So through Sulpicius, as through 
Prudentius, we find a vein of quiet happiness, whatever their subject, 
in striking contrast with the unhappiness and violence of so much 
of the heathen literature of the Empire. In the pages of Montalem- 
bert’s Monks of the West we find very much the same glowing 
joyousness, for the author, if he had not the critical qualities that 
raake a historian, was in love with his subject and caught the 
spirit of the early Gallic monasticism. The same note, but with the 
historical gift, marks Sabatier’s Francis of Assisi. 

Sulpicius’ prose style is admirable for its ease and fibre’. The 
schools had taught him Cicero and Virgil, and he had assimilated 
more than their roll and cadence. Ausonius, Paulinus and 
Symmachus had had the same training, had learnt and loved the 
same authors, and they wrote smoothly and fluently enough, but 
their work is very bloodless—they say nothing, and they say it 
with infinite meandering. Sulpicius is the well-girt writer; his 
style follows his theme, is earnest, playful or impassioned with his 


1 V. Mart. 25. It was polite of Sulpicius to write this of his friend, who 
returns the compliment by perpetually professing to be a very poor creature by 
comparison. E.g. Ep. v. 7: Sulpicius blazes septena Domini candelabra, while 
Paulinus is sub modio peccatorum, The jumble of scripture is characteristic of 
Paulinus. 

2 Jerome (Ep. 125, 6) speaks of the high state of education in Gaul. His 
correspondent, Rusticus, was, however, sent on to Rome ut ubertatem Gallici 
nitoremque sermonis gravitas Romana condiret, Cf. Claudian, iv. Cons. Hon. 
582 Gallia doctis civibus. 


Sulpicius Severus 287 


thought, never draggles, never wearies. Here and there slips in a 
happy phrase from Virgil, with the utmost aptness and naturalness 
—the snake charmed by the lads of an Egyptian monastery quasi 
incantata carminibus caerula colla deposuit (Dial. i. 10, cf. Aeneid 
ii. 381). Of Martin’s preaching we read that he groaned in spirit, 
infremuit nec mortale sonans praedicabat (Dial. τι. 4, cf. Aeneid vi. 
50). Once more, he bids Postumian on his return to Egypt to find 
somewhere on the shore the grave of Pomponius, ac licet inani 
munere soluwm ipsum flore purpureo et swave redolentibus sparge 
graminibus (Dial. iii, 18, cf. Aeneid vi. 885)'. Once he quotes a 
line of Statius without precisely naming him—wtimur enim versu 
scholastico, quia inter scholasticos fabulamur?—much as ἃ modern 
might in conversation quote a line of Shakespeare more for play- 
fulness than because of 4 rigid relevance. Remarkable too, as 
instancing his care for the purity of his vocabulary, is his apology 
for the verb exsufflare, which he must use though parum Latinum 
to express his thought’. 

The excellence of his style is remarked by most of his critics, 
M. Boissier finding in him the typical charm of French literature, 
but the criticism of Gibbon will help us best to the next point for 
consideration. He alludes to the narration of “facts adapted to 
the grossest barbarism in a style not unworthy of the Augustan 
age. So natural,” he continues, “is the alliance between good 
taste and good sense that I am always astonished by the contrast‘.”’ 
Sulpicius has indeed an almost unbounded credulity. It must be 
recognized, before we judge him, that modern science is, after all, 
very modern, and that while we are emancipated from much crude 
superstition to-day, much still remains in odd corners of minds by 
no means uncultured, and that after all it is possible to pay too 
high a price for the extinction of superstition. At all events we 
must judge Sulpicius by the standard of his time, and, not to go 
back to Tacitus and his phoenix and Vespasian’s miracle, so sane a 
man as Ammianus has a wistful regret for portents ‘which occur 
still but are not noted,” while a century or so later Zosimus, the 
bitter critic of Christianity, can seriously attribute the decay and 

1 Cf. also V. Mart. 22 and Aeneid vii. 338. 

2 Dial. ii. 10. Does he mean an ‘‘example” from a grammar? 

In one of his letters (xxii.) Paulinus rallies him about Virgil, citing a letter 
of his ending with a Virgilian quotation (Aen. iii.) and giving at length another, 
igs sti one about a cook for the monastery, where he uses the Plautine lar 


3 Dial. iii. 8. 
4 Decline and Fall, iii. p. 376 n. 


288 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


decrepitude of the Empire to the neglect of Constantine to hold the 
secular games. ‘These men were heathens. 

There are not wanting signs that men of his day found some 
of Sulpicius’ stories hard to believe. We have one notice of a 
man who told St Martin himself that “what with empty super- 
stitions and ridiculous delusions he had come to dotage and 
madness,” but as a brace of devils were seen chuckling and ejacu- 
lating “Go it! Brictio!” to encourage him, we may discount this 
critic’s views’. More important is another passage in the third 
book of the Dialogue, where Sulpicius interrupts his narrative with 
a little piece of apologia, which, if it somewhat mars the art and 
verisimilitude of the piece, illuminates the character of the author. 
A good many (plurimi) are said to shake their heads (nutare) about 
what has been said in the second book. “Let them accept the 
evidence of men still living and believe them, seeing they doubt my 
good faith. But if they are so very sceptical, I protest they will 
not even believe them. Yet I am astonished that any one who has 
even a faint idea of religion would be willing to commit such a sin 
as to think any one could lie about Martin. Far be such a suspicion 
from any who lives under God; for Martin does not need the support 
of falsehood. But the truth of the whole story, O Christ! 
I pledge with thee, that I have not said nor will say anything but 
what I have either seen myself or learnt on good authority, 
generally from Martin himself. But even if I have adopted the 
form of a dialogue, that variety in my story may prevent monotony, 
I profess I am religiously making truth the foundation of my 
history. I have been obliged at the cost of some pain to make this 
insertion on account of the incredulity of some people...... Believe 
me, I am quite unstrung and beside myself for pain—will not 
Christians believe in those powers of Martin which devils acknow- 
ledged?” This inset makes the conclusion of the piece remind us a 
little of Virgil’s wounded snake in its rather unsuccessful attempt to 
proceed as if nothing had happened, but it has its value. With 
other passages it establishes Sulpicius’ honesty. It is therefore 
worth while to consider how it is he can believe so much that is 
incredible to us. 

I have said, we must allow for his living in a very unscientific 
age, an age, too, when the refined scepticism of Roman society 
in Cicero’s day and the blatant atheism of Lucian and his kind 


1 Dial. iii, 15. 2 Dial. iii. 5. 


Sulpicius Severus 289 


had been made well-nigh impossible by that reaction toward faith, 
which is seen in Neo-Platonism, in the rapid spread of Christianity 
and in the general revival of religion which began in the second 
century and was so pronounced in the third. Men were ready to 
believe much, and where this is the case, there is actually less tax 
upon credulity. For there is a certain amount of evidence that some 
diseases, mainly of the mental or hysterical order, may be cured by 
the exercise of faith in the sufferer. Nothing helps a patient very 
much who firmly believes he is going to die, whose mind is made up 
to it, and the converse is true too. Let the sick man conceive the 
belief that the practitioner or the saint can cure him and is doing 
it, and in some cases this belief will cure him. But for this Notre 
Dame de Lourdes and Ste Anne de Beaupré in Quebec might earn 
less gratitude. Now Martin was an ignorant man, though a man who 
had great power with men in virtue of his character and personality, 
and he believed he could heal disease by prayer and faith, and that 
this faculty was but the fulfilment of Christ’s promises. Sulpicius 
says, and it is not improbable he is presenting Martin’s view, as well 
as his own, that to doubt these miracles of healing, etc., is to 
diminish the credibility of the gospel, “for when the Lord himself 
testified that such works as Martin did were to be done by all the 
faithful, he who does not believe Martin did them, does not believe 
Christ said so'.” Perhaps the logic is not above suspicion, but it is 
clear that it was held Martin’s miracles were proven no less by the 
words of the gospel than by ocular evidence. Thus Martin believed 
he could work miracles, and no doubt he did effect cures, and he 
had a strange influence over men and animals, which to-day might 
be called hypnotism, or some such fine name, and was then called 
miracle. If Martin’s evidence was not enough, there was the witness 
of the people healed. While we may admit they were the better 
for his treatment, we have no kind of guarantee that their diagnosis 
of their own maladies was at all more likely to be sound than the 
pronouncements of ignorant people on their complaints to-day. ΤῸ 
an untrained observer, however, the evidence of the worker of the 
miracle and the subject of it, supported by the inherent probability 
of its happening in view of what the gospel said and the reflexion 
that it might very well happen in any case, would be overwhelming. 


We may then pronounce some of the miracles to be actual instances 


of cures effected, and some to be cures of imaginary diseases, 


1 Dial. i. 26. 


290 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


some the results of mere coincidence, some the ordinary everyday 
order of events, and all greatly coloured by ignorance and childlike 
faith’. 

Visions* are more easily explained as they depend on the 
evidence of an individual and neither require nor obtain corrobora- 
tion. Ignorance again will explain some, and overstrung nerves 
others, while emotion and a touch of poetry or a tendency to 
imagery will help in nearly every case. In many of Martin’s 
visions a certain spiritual insight is implied. For example, on one 
occasion the devil appeared to Martin at prayer, attired in purple 
with diadem of gold and gems, and boots wrought with gold, with 
serene countenance and glad mien, and proclaimed himself to be 
Christ descended from heaven and rewarding Martin with the first 
sight of himself. The Saint was silént. ‘Martin, why hesitate to 
believe when you see? I am Christ.” ‘No,’ said Martin, “the 
Lord Jesus did not say he would come with purple or diadem. 
I will not believe Christ has come, unless it be in the garb and 
form under which he suffered, unless he bear upon him the marks 
of the cross (stigmata crucis).” Thereupon the devil vanished. 
Here his asceticism helped him; but at the same time it should be 
remembered that the millennium and the second advent were much 
in the thoughts of Martin and his school. ‘To this, however, we 
must recur, 

It may be regretted that Sulpicius on turning to the religious 
life should have taken as his guide so rude and untrained a thinker 
as Martin, rather than some more cultured man like Augustine. 
But we must realize that it is by no means unusual for men of 
refinement and education to be fascinated by the unpolished 
directness and rough vigour of a leader, a prophet, from among 
the people. Apart from this however, there is little doubt that 
Martin with all his limitations was the best and most spiritual, 

1 George Fox (1649) at Mansfield-Woodhouse quieted an insane woman by 
speaking to her. ‘*The Lord’s power settled her mind and she mended,” when 
a doctor and many people about her, ‘‘holding her by violence,’ had failed. 
‘‘Many great and wonderful things were wrought by the heavenly power in 
those days; for the Lord made bare his omnipotent arm, and manifested his 
power to the astonishment of many, by the healing virtue whereof many have 
been delivered from great infirmities, and the devils were made subject through 
his name; of which particular instances might be given, beyond what this 
unbelieving age is able to receive or hear.” It may be added that America 
swarms with groups of ‘‘ Christian Scientists,” ‘‘ mind-healers,” ‘‘faith-healers,” 
and the like, who achieye cures of disease now and then by means they only 
partly understand, and then generalize with an extraordinary and pathetic 


courage. 
2 Vita Martini, 24. 


Sulpicius Severus 291 


the most practically and consistently holy, of the Christian leaders 
of Gaul; and manliness and godliness are perhaps after all not 
outweighed by ignorance of physical science’. 

If Sulpicius is not to be followed in his opinions on medicine 
and nature, in his judgments of men he is sterling and sound. 
He saw the great man under the uncouthness of Martin, and he 


‘realized how terribly lacking were others among the bishops of 


Gaul. Like his master, he is fair-minded and fearless. Let us 
take three examples. Into the great controversy about Origen 
and his orthodoxy, we need not go. It was in the East one of 
the burning questions of the day, utilized for political ends by 
the unscrupulous Theophilus, a successor to Athanasius in the 
see of Alexandria. It crops up in Postumian’s account of his 
Eastern travels in the Dialogue, and whether we say Sulpicius is 
putting his own views into Postumian’s mouth or publishing 
Postumian’s idea in his own work, the conclusion, which is reached 
after independent study of the books in question, is that, whatever 
the authorities may say, while there is some doubtful teaching in 
them, there is undoubtedly much that is good and useful. 

Again, when he reviews the life and character of Maximus the 
British usurper who slew Gratian, and after some five years of 
Empire (383-388) was overthrown by Theodosius, Sulpicius is 
remarkably careful to give him credit for good qualities which 
men were not concerned to discover in a fallen rebel. He was “ἃ 
man whose whole life deserved honour, had it been possible for him 
to refuse the diadem set upon his head by the soldiers in mutiny, 
or to abstain from civil war; but Imperial power (magnum imperium) 
cannot be refused without danger nor upheld without arms’.” ‘This 
is a most just criticism, and in it is the explanation of much of the 
history of the third and fourth centuries. Many a man had in self- 
defence to embark on civil war. It was a necessity of military 
despotism. 

Elsewhere® he says, that while Maximus “had done many fine 
acts he was not enough on his guard against avarice, except that 


1 Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana has marvels and miracles far 
beyond Martin’s, and Macrébius’ wonders of science (Sat. vii.) reveal what men 
educated in the physics of the day could and did believe. Ido not know that 
either falls much short of St Alphonso Liguori’s Glories of Mary, published in 
English not so long ago with the commendation of Cardinal Manning. 

2 Dial. ii. 6. This judgment curiously coincides with that of Orosius vii. 
34, 9 Maximus vir quidem strenuus et probus et Augusto dignus nisi contra sacra- 
mentum per tyrannidem emersisset. Contrast Ausonius, p. 121, n. 3. 

δ᾽ Dial. iii. 11. 


19—2 


292 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


the necessities of monarchy, in the exhaustion of the treasury by 
former rulers and his own immediate expectation of civil war ever 
impending, afford an easy excuse for his providing support for his 
power in any and every way.” 

Maximus had a great regard for Martin, and his queen was 
really extravagant in her admiration of him. This was seen in 
the strange affair of Priscillian, where once more the fairness and 
reasonableness of Sulpicius appear. Priscillian was the founder 
of a small sect, of a Gnostic type, Sulpicius says. In 1885 the 
German scholar Schepss discovered a manuscript of the fifth or 
sixth century, containing some treatises and other matter, which, 
though anonymous, he and other scholars attribute to Priscillian 
himself. For the first time the heretic has been heard on his own 
account, and the reader may be referred to his works in the Vienna 
Corpus, vol. xviii., and to the monograph of Friedrich Paret. Our 
present concern is rather with the civil than the theological signifi- 
cance of the story, and with the attitude of Martin and Sulpicius 
toward the heretics’. 

Two bishops had joined Priscillian and had consecrated him. 
But the bishops of Spain and Gaul set themselves to bring about 
the extinction of the sect by persecution and the sword. The 
matter was brought to the Emperor Gratian who issued an edict 
against the new sect. Priscillian made overtures for an interview 
with Damasus and Ambrose, but when neither of them would see 
him he got a court official, Macedonius, to use his influence and 
have the edict withdrawn. The death of Gratian followed in 383, 
and in 384 a synod of Burdigala (Bordeaux) condemned Priscillian, 
who took the unusual step of appealing to the new Emperor. The 
case came to Maximus and the bishops cried for the surety of blood. 
Here Martin intervened—it was enough, he said, and more than 


1 St Augustine, Ep. 237, deals with the sect’s false scriptures, and especially 
with a hymn supposed to have been spoken by Christ. This hymn is to be 
found entire in the Acts of St John; see M. R. James, Apocrypha Anecdota, 
2nd series. I quote the fragments Augustine cites: 


salvare volo et salvari volo: 

solvere volo et solvi volo: 

......generari volo: 

at saltate cuncti. 

plangere volo, tundite vos omnes : 

ornare volo et ornari volo: 

lucerna sum tibi, ille qui me vides: 

janua sum tibi quicumque me pulsas: 

qui vides quod ago tace opera mea: 

verbo illusit cuncta et non sum illusus in totum. . 


πα πὰ τὰς τυ οι 


Sulpicius Severus 293 


enough that they had been pronounced heretics by the bishops and 
driven from the churches: it was a cruel and unheard of sin that a 
secular judge should hear an ecclesiastical case’. He won a promise 
from Maximus that no blood should be shed, “but afterwards the 
Emperor was depraved by the bishops and turned away from milder 
counsels,” and Priscillian and others were put to death. That 
some of these people, the earliest examples of Christians slain by 
Christians for opinion’s sake, were women, a professor's widow and 
daughter from Bordeaux, excited great indignation’. It would seem 
that Maximus, like another usurper in France, was bidding for the 
support of the Church’. 

The bishops were successful and now thought of going further 
and having a commission sent to Spain to arrest and try heretics. 
The assize would have been a bloody one, for their leader Ithacius 
was a man, says Sulpicius, with no moderation and nothing of the 
saint about him, extravagant, talkative and gluttonous. ‘He had 
reached such a pitch of folly as to be ready to include under the 
charge of Priscillianism all holy men, who had either a love of 
reading or a habit of fasting.” The studiwm lectionis as a mark of 
heresy might pass for a phrase of Erasmus. Elsewhere he says it 
was clear that scant distinctions would be made, as the eye was 
a good enough judge in such cases, for a man was proved a 
heretic rather by his pale cheeks and his poor raiment than by his 
belief‘. 

Martin once more appeared—deeply grieved for the crime 
committed, anxious about the crime preparing. He would not at 
first communicate with the bishops, whom he not unjustly regarded 
as guilty of Priscillian’s murder, but when Maximus made his 
communion the price of the stoppage of persecution he gave way. 
But he felt he had lost spiritual power by so doing, as he had 
previously done by being consecrated bishop, and thereafter he kept 
studiously away from every gathering of bishops. Ambrose also 


broke off all connexion with Ithacius and Ursacius. 


-Now throughout this strange story it is remarkable how clear 
and definite is Sulpicius’ judgment. He has no sympathy with 
Priscillian’s views, far from it, but he is moved to horror and indig- 
nation by the conduct of the bishops. Maximus in some measure 

1 Chron. ii. 50. 

2 Cf. Pacatus, Paneg. Theod. 29, cited on p. 111. 

3 Richter writing in 1865 drew an elaborate parallel between Maximus and 


the eldest son of the Church. (See Hodgkin, Italy and her Invaders, i. 443.) 
4 Dial. ii. 4. 


294 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


he excuses, and he points out that “not only was the heresy not 
crushed by the killing of Priscillian, but strengthened and spread 
further. For his followers, who had formerly honoured him as a 
saint, afterwards began to worship (colere) him as a martyr. The 
bodies of the slain were taken back to Spain, and their burial 
celebrated with great pomp, and to swear ‘by Priscillian’ was 
counted the most binding of oaths. But amongst the orthodox 
(nostros) there blazed a ceaseless war of quarrels, which after fifteen 
years of dissensions could not yet be ended.” All, he says, is 
confusion as a result of the quarrelling, the lust and the greed of 
the bishops, and “meanwhile the people of God and every good 
man are treated with shame and mockery'’.” So in the thirteenth 
century “the priest,” says Sabatier, “is the antithesis of the saint, 
he is almost always his enemy.” 

We may now pass to a short review of the works of Sulpicius, 
which fall into two divisions—his writings on St Martin and his 
Chronicle. 

The Chronicle’ is an epitome of Scripture history, supplemented 
by a rapid survey of the ten persecutions of the Church (a 
numeration for which he is one of the earliest authorities), a 
glance over the Arian controversy and a rather fuller account of 
the Priscillianist troubles. It is plain that the interest of the work 
grows greater toward the end, for an epitome will generally lack 
freshness. But in this case there are one or two things to be said. 
First of all, the epitome is written in Sulpicius’ usual style. It is 
clear and lucid, and though short and concise does not give too 
strong an impression of scrappiness. here is something of a 
classical flavour here and there, and it strikes one as odd to read 
of Jacob’s burial, fwnus magnifice curatum, or of Moses’, de sepulert 
loco parum compertum. The phrases somehow do not suggest the 
Pentateuch. He has a keen eye for chronology, on which he is at 
issue with Archbishop Ussher to the extent of some sixteen 
centuries’. After repeated difficulties with one figure after another 
in his authorities he concludes: ‘‘I am sure that it is more likely 


1 Chron. ii. 51. 

2 This is the only work of Sulpicius precisely dated. He brings his work to 
a conclusion in Stilicho’s consulship, 400 a.p. (ii. 9 omne enim tempus in Stili- 
conem direxi.) Martin’s life and the first letter seem to have been written before 
Martin’s death, which was sixteen years after his second visit to Maximus. 
Maximus reigned from 383—388, but must have left Gaul about 386. Reinkens 
puts the publication of the Life after Martin’s death, that of the Dialogue in 
the year 405, supposing Sulpicius to have died shortly after the year 406. 

3 Chron. i. 40. 


Sulpicius Severus 295 


that the truth has been lost by the carelessness of copyists, 
especially when so many centuries have intervened, than that the 
prophet should have erred. Just as in the case of my own little 
book I expect it will befall that, by the carelessness of those who 
transcribe it, things will be spoiled about which I have not been 
careless.” He keeps his story wonderfully clear of typology, only 
once, I think, going so far as to remark a type, Deborah, it seems, 
being a prefigurement of the Church. Where necessary, he reinforces 
his story with material from secular historians, though he is careful 
to explain that he regards their standing as very different. In this 
way he has preserved for us a passage of Tacitus, otherwise lost, on the 
destruction of the temple by Titus. He makes some shrewd remarks 
on the effect on Christianity of the destruction of Jerusalem by 
Hadrian, and the resultant removal of the servitude of the Law 
from the freedom of the faith and of the Church. 

It is remarkable how abruptly he passes from Isaiah’, merely 
mentioning his name, while he recommends the careful study of 
Ezekiel, whose prophecy is “magnificent, for the mystery of things 
to come and of the resurrection was revealed to him’.” But when 
he comes to Daniel he devotes to him a number of chapters and 
gives an interesting interpretation of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream. In 
the feet of iron and clay was foretold the Roman Empire which is 
to be divided (dividendum) so as never to cohere again. ‘This has 
even so come to pass, for the Roman world is not administered by 
one Emperor, but by several who are always quarrelling by war or 
faction. Finally the mixture of clay and iron, whose substances 
can never cohere, signifies the destined incompatible intermixtures 
of mankind, for the Roman territory is held by foreign tribes or 
rebels, or is handed over to them when they surrender and make 
what passes for peace, and we see in our armies, our cities and 
provinces admixtures of barbarous nations, chiefly Jews*, who dwell 
among us but do not however adopt our ways. And the prophets 
tell us that this is the end.” He complains that men will not 

1 St Augustine confesses that he too, at least before his baptism, found 
Isaiah too hard, Conf. ix. 5,13. Verum tamen ego primam hujus lectionem non 
intelligens, totumque talem arbitrans, distuli repetendum exercitatior in dominico 
Or ΗΝ ii. 3. 

3 See authorities quoted by Seeck in an interesting note in his Gesch. des 
Untergangs der Antiken Welt, p. 328, ll. 30, 31; note Salvian, de gub. Dei, iv. 
14, 69, there cited, for an attitude toward Syrians in Gaul closely like that taken 
in America toward the Jews. Add Rutil. Namat. i. 3833—396. It is one of the 


most astonishing things to realize how many Syrians and Armenians, apart from 
Jews, go to the New World to make money by peddling and return to Asia. 


5 


296 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


believe in those parts of the vision which still remain to be fulfilled, 
in spite of the fulfilment of it all so far. I have spoken before 
of the millenarism of the school of Martin and this is one more 
instance of it. 

The Chronicle had a curious fate, for after the invention of 
printing it was used as a manual of history in schools for a century 
and a half, and at one time incurred the ignorant suspicions of the 
authorities of the Index’. 

His other writings deal mainly with St Martin. His Life of 
Martin is a model of biography though it has too many marvels 
for the taste of to-day*. He supplemented it with three letters 
on his great leader, and from these we learn that it was written 
before Martin’s death, which comes upon us as a surprise ; for one 
would never judge from its style that its subject was living. It 
may indeed have been revised, but this is mere conjecture. 

In the Dialogue he continues the same subject, though he 
prefixes to it an account of the monks of Upper Egypt. The 
interlocutors are three—himself, Gallus, a Gaul from the North, 
and Postumian, like himself an Aquitanian. Postumian begins 
with the story of his travels, how he sailed to Carthage and wor- 
shipped at St Cyprian’s tomb, how bad weather gave him a glimpse 
of a curious little Christian community of shepherds in the desert, 
how he went to Alexandria when the famous quarrel about the Tall 
Brothers was at its height, and thence how he went to Bethlehem 
and stayed with St Jerome, and to the deserts of the Thebaid and 
saw all manner of holy men. Some of his tales are a little sadden- 
ing. When obedience is carried to such a pitch that one foolish 
man at the bidding of another will spend two years in carrying 
water a mile to water a walking-stick, one feels there is some 
fundamental error in the system. The holy man, who lived alone 
on Mt Sinai for years and years, and by God’s blessing did not 
know he was naked, who ran from his fellow men, and when at last 


) 

1 Symonds, The Renaissance in Italy, vol. vi. p. 221, ‘‘Sigonius, a Vatican 
student, was instructed to prepare certain text-books by Cardinal Paleotti. 
These were an ecclesiastical history, a treatise on the Hebrew commonwealth 
and an edition of Sulpicius Severus. The manuscripts were returned to him, 
rete of unsound doctrine and scrawled over with such remarks as ‘false,’ 
‘absurd.’ ” 

3 Even Paulinus deviates into relevance (Ep. xi. 11) to say of this Life: 
historiam tam digno sermone quam justo affectu percensuisti. Beatus et ille pro 
meritis qui dignum fide et vita sua meruit historicum. The Life was done into 
hexameters in the 5th century by Paulinus of Périgueux, and in the 7th by 
hice page Fortunatus. Probably the original prose will be preferred by most 
readers. 


Sulpicius Severus 297 


he deigned a word to one explained that angels will not visit him 
who dwells with other men, might, I am afraid, to-day be counted 
as merely insane. The pleasanter tales tell of wild beasts tamed 
and making friends with solitary hermits, though one fears that 
the tale of the grateful lioness who sought a holy man’s aid to give 
sight to her blind cubs, and presented him a day or two later 
with the skin of some rare’ animal, may seem to fall short of 
probability. 

When Postumian’s travels are told, Gallus tells of St Martin 
and manages to eclipse point by point the marvels of the desert 
with the miracles of Gaul. It has been remarked that these stories 
are put by Sulpicius into the mouth of his Celtic friend as if with 
the intention of suggesting that they are not to be taken quite 
literally, but his digression in the third book (to which I have 
alluded) seems to make this view impossible. 

One of the most interesting things in the Dialogue is the naive 
account of the wonderful success of the Life of Martin’. It was 
Postumian’s “companion by land and sea, his fellow and comforter 
in all his pilgrimage,” and he found it before him wherever he went. 
Paulinus had introduced it to Rome, where it sold like wildfire 
to the vast delight of the booksellers. It was already the talk of 
Carthage when Postumian got there. At Alexandria nearly every- 
body knew it better than Sulpicius himself. It was spread all over 
Egypt, and Postumian brought a request from the desert for a 
sequel. Sulpicius hopes that the Dialogue may do as well as the 
Life’. 

Several general features remain to be remarked in the works 
of Sulpicius. ΤῸ his belief in miracles and visions I have already 
referred. With this, I think, we should associate his millenarian 
views. They too seem to be due to St Martin. It is a curious 
thing how often a belief in the speedy return of Christ goes with 
a revival of the religious life, a Nemesis one might perhaps say of 
literalism, almost of materialism, shadowing the developnient of the 
spiritual. 

His earliest reference tq the subject is in the Life of Martin. 
A false prophet, Anatolius by name, appeared in Gaul’, and another 
simultaneously in Spain. The latter began by being Elias and then 


1 Dial. i. 23. Paulinus in one of his letters (xxix. 14) tells how he read the 
Life to the very saintly lady Melania and others. The lady was much interested 
in lives of holy men. 

2 Dial, iii. 17. 3 V. Mart, 23. 


298 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


proceeded to be Christ, and actually got a Spanish bishop to admit 
his claim and worship him as God’. Sulpicius continues, “A good 
many brethren also told us that at the same time there had risen in 
the East a person who proclaimed that he was John. From all this 
we may conjecture, when so many false prophets appear, that the 
coming of Antichrist is at hand, and that he is already working in 
them the mystery of iniquity.” 

The whole of this line of thought betrays at this early date 
as ever since the influence of the books of Daniel and Revelation, 
and in point of fact Martin and Sulpicius were nearer the original 
than their successors, for they realized that Nero was portended 
by the latter book*. Martin said that Nero would subdue ten kings 
and become Emperor in the West, Antichrist in the East. Each 
would start persecution, Nero in the interests of idolatry, Antichrist 
seemingly of Judaism, for he was to rebuild the Temple*, enjoin 
circumcision and claim worship as Christ. There was to be civil 
war between them, as so often between West and East, and Nero 
should fall and Antichrist reign, till the man of sin should be 
crushed by Christ’s coming. Antichrist was in fact already born, 
had reached boyhood even, at the time of Martin’s speaking, eight 
years before Sulpicius wrote his Dialogue, “so take thought how 
near at hand are the things men dread as still in the future*.” 

In the Chronicle, Sulpicius says less, perhaps because more was 
unfitting in hoc tam praeciso opere. All he says is that Nero was 
“a, very fitting person to inaugurate the persecution of Christians’, 
and perhaps he will yet be the last to carry it out, for it is believed 
by many that he will come in person before Antichrist®.” But we 
need not go further into the subject, for the dangers of the inter- 
pretation of prophecy are obvious, and there is little pleasure to be 
derived from the contemplation of the errors and eccentricities of 
good men. 


1 V. Mart. 24, 

2 For stories of false Neros see Tacitus, Hist. i. 2; ii. 8, a pretender about 
the year 70; and Suetonius, Nero, 57, apparently another twenty years later. 
Dio Chrysostom, Or. xxi. 10 (de Pulchritudine) οἱ δὲ πλεῖστοι καὶ οἴονται (that 
Nero lives), καίπερ τρόπον τινὰ οὐχ ἅπαξ αὐτοῦ τεθνηκότος, ἀλλὰ πολλάκις μετὰ 
τῶν σφόδρα οἷηθέντων αὐτὸν ζῆν. 

3. Is this a far away memory of the Emperor Julian’s attempt to rebuild it? 

4 Dial. ii. 14. Jerome on Ezekiel xxxvi. (Migne, col. 339 8) alludes to these 
views—deurepwoers, a Jerusalem of gold, the restoration of the Jews etc., as 
lately upheld by Severus noster in dialogo cui Gallo nomen imposuit. 

5 Cf. Tertullian on Nero, Apology 5. Sed tali dedicatore damnationis nostrae 
etiam gloriamur, etc. 

§ Chron, ii. 28. 


“Ξαἰκψυνν νὰ ΤΆΧΑ. 


Sulpicius Severus 299 


I have alluded more than once to the ill-will between the monks 
and the bishops which was not lessened with time, though ever and 
again a monk was made a bishop. Sometimes like St Martin he 
would remember his calling, but not always, for Sulpicius has much 


- to say about monks losing their heads on being ordained or conse- 


crated, and conceiving passions for building, for maintaining great 
establishments and travelling with ease and magnificence with 
multitudes of horses and servants. Again and again he protests 
against luxury and display and more serious vices among the 
bishops and clergy. They have forgotten, if they ever knew, that 
Levi received no share in the land of Canaan; at least one would 
suppose so from their eagerness for acquiring property in land’. 
Prudentius says much the same, only more ingeniously, for by a 
little anachronism, involving a century and a half, he puts into the 
mouth of a dead and gone persecutor the words 


et summa pietas creditur 
nudare dulces liberos?. 


But worse still was their habit of consorting with spiritual 
sisters‘. ‘This was no new story, and perhaps it will never be old. 
Cyprian long ago had written against the practice, and Jerome 
fulminated against it still. He was himself the friend and adviser 
of many women, and many of his letters to the nun Eustochium 
and other ladies survive’. There seems to be a perennial fascina- 
tion about the clergy for spiritually-minded women, but surely, 
Sulpicius felt, monks have renounced feminine society and nuns 
masculine. Scandals occurred oftener than so strait a school cared 
to see them, and we find it told with pride how Martin but once in 
his life allowed a woman to minister to him. But “as the grammarians 
do, we must consider place, time and person®,” and it was the queen 
of Maximus and her husband was present. One very scrupulous 


1 Dial. i. 21. 

2 Chron. i. 23. Non solum immemores sed etiam ignari. Note his conclusion 
as to the meaning of their rapacity; quasi venalem praeferunt sanctitatem. 

3 Steph. ii. 83—4, 

4 Two Councils at least in the 4th century condemned this consorting with 
syneisaktoi and agapetae. The 3rd Canon of the Council of Nicaea, and the 
27th of Elvira both forbid it. ‘Spiritual brothers” and ‘‘sons” are mentioned 
by Gregory of Nazianzus and Jerome. See Dale, Council of Elvira, p. 200. On 
the better aspects of this matter the reader may consult Sabatier’s interesting 
chapter on St Clara in his work on St Francis of Assisi. 

5 Nosti puellares animos his rebus plerumque solidari, si se intelligant curae 
esse majoribus, he says (Zp. 7, 4)—a very worthy reason for very extraordinary 
letters to be written to a girl of seventeen or eighteen. 

8 Dial. ii. 7. 


800 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


virgin point-blank refused to see Martin himself, for though thau- 
maturge and bishop it could not be disguised that he was after 
all a man'; and Martin praised her for her modesty. Well 
indeed might Gallus say that if we were all like Martin, we should 
not so much discuss the causas de osculo:—“But after all we are 
Gauls*.” 

One mark of the monastic movement was its new relation with 
nature, a new interest in birds and beasts, a new love for them. 
Pet birds and dogs the old heathen world had known, but now man 
and animal met on more equal terms of freedom, and we read 
already of wolves and lions who were friends of the Egyptian monks. 
Martin, himself, does not seem to have been intimate with any 
animal, still we hear of him saving a hare from some hounds, and 
there is a curious parable from nature recorded, not, it must be 
said, a very happy one. The seagulls that flew up the Loire and 
caught the fish were, he said, a type of the powers of evil seeking 
the human soul. It reminds one of Bunyan’s Book for Boys and 
Girls, and its odd expositions of natural things. On the sacred 
trees of the heathen Gauls Martin waged relentless war, hewing 
them down by grace of miracle in spite of protest. 

We now come to the last story told of Sulpicius, which, I should 
say, I find strong reason for doubting. Sulpicius, as we have seen, 
renounced the world and its allurements to become a monk, to live 
the life best adapted, as men thought then, to the quest of holiness. 
The thought of sin was often in his mind, his life in fact was a hand 
to hand battle with sin. Now in the west, among men of his own 
blood, rose a teacher with a new doctrine of sin—Pelagius. It may 
seem odd to find a Celt, a British Celt, with a Greek name, but we 
find quite a number of Greek names among the Gallic and Spanish 
monks in Sulpicius’ pages*—Eucherius, Euanthius, Aetherius and 
Potamius, and a Briton Pelagius was. Into Pelagianism we need 
not enter, but certain features should-be remarked. Faith is not 
enough to save a man; it must be reinforced by works, by conduct, 
‘ by watchfulness ; and a man’s will-power, aided by grace (which is 


1 On the other hand when Martin slept in a vestry of the church at Claudio- 
magus, on his departure there was a rush (inruerunt) of virgins into the room, 
to kiss the spots where he had sat or stood, and to divide up the straw on which 
he had lain. Dial. ii. 8. 

2 Dial, ii. 8. 

3 The Celt carried his fancy for a little Greek so far, that in Irish mss. we 
are apt to find stray Latin words written in Greek character. The Greek names 
may, perhaps, be illustrated by the habit native converts in India have of giving 
their children English names. 


Sulpicius Severus 301 


won by his good inclinations), and supported by good works, may 
secure him a pure life, not indeed free from temptation, but from 
sin. Underlying all this there was to begin with a protest against 
the worldliness and evil living of professing Christians, though the 
logical outcome of the system was really to underestimate sin. But 
for the time it was urged that a low standard was not inevitable ; 
the highest was attainable, if proper means were taken. The proper 
means meant the monastic life generally. 

This view of the possibilities of Christian living was a monk’s, 
a Celtic monk’s, and from what we have seen of Sulpicius, it will 
not be altogether surprising to read in Gennadius that he adopted 
Pelagius’ position’. Millenarism and an over-hasty idea of achieving 
sinlessness not uncommonly go together and it may be that Sulpicius 
became a Pelagian. Gennadius wrote a refutation of the heresy, 
which is lost, and he might be supposed to know who were its leading 
adherents. He adds, however, that Sulpicius ultimately realized he 
had made a mistake and renounced his error, and in his repentance 
abjured speech for ever, “to expiate by silence the sin he had 
contracted by speech.” Whether we believe all this to be true or 
not? depends on whether we accept Gennadius’ story, but it must be 
admitted it is not inherently impossible. It would be sad to think 
of this most genial and gentle of men ending his days in the agony 
of remorse and silence, but even if he did, it does not lessen the 
value of his delightful works. Probably, however, the story is a 
mistake, the invention of stupidity. 

Reviewing the life of Sulpicius, it may seem to us strange that 
a man of good family and culture should so surrender himself to the 
guidance of a man his inferior in everything society valued, should 
surrender above all his judgment and accept so much that would 
appear contrary to reason, to sense and to experience. Yet, after 
all, it is not a very rare phenomenon. Our own day has seen a 

1 Gennadius, Vir. Ill. 19. 

2 More and more I incline to think that this story—silentium usque ad 
mortem tenuit—is, after all, a mere misunderstanding of Paulinus’ phrases 
confugisti ad pietatis silentium ut evaderes iniquitatis tumultum. Mutescere 
voluisti mortalibus ut ore puro divina loquereris et pollutam canina facundia 
linguam Christi laudibus et commemoratione ipsa pii nominis expiares (Ep. v. 6). 
Gennadius mentions (6. 49) that Paulinus wrote ad Severum plures epistulas, 
nor is this his only allusion, and he obviously depends for all his other state- 
ments on these letters and on Sulpicius himself. List-making is a poor trade, 
and such a blunder is not very improbable. Paulinus Petricordius (of Périgueux) 
a contemporary of Gennadius (469—490) who did Severus’ Martin into an epic 
of six books, speaks of him with admiration, but no hint of this story. See 


Book v. (1052 c, Migne). Reinkens, without discussing the origin of Gennadius’ 
story, dismisses it as untrue. 


802 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


similar renunciation of everything by a man of letters, a member of 
the English House of Commons, who at the word of one he believed 
inspired of God, left all to work on a farm and sell strawberries on a 
train, still retaining a buoyant cheerfulness. Whatever we may 
make of his teaching, we cannot but respect the spirit of Laurence 
Oliphant. 

Τὸ may, however, be said, that while Sulpicius’ problem is the 
constant problem of mankind, his solution is not satisfactory. 
Though many things in his day made it attractive to men of a 
religious temper, it none the less rested eventually on a funda- 
mentally false philosophy, a wrong explanation of the world, the old 
Oriental mistrust of matter and of the body. Over and over again 
since Sulpicius’ day this mistake has been exposed, error, as Augustine 
says, proving in all sorts and kinds of strange ways its own punish- 
ment, revolting against its own consequences and exposing itself. 
But if the monastic solution of the problem of holy living will not 
satisfy mankind in the long run, it must not be forgotten that a 
debt of gratitude is due to the men who had the nobility of character 
to venture all on the experiment. That it failed proves their judg- 
ment was unsound, but it does not affect the fact that they thought 
such an experiment worth while, 


CHAPTER XIII 


PALLADAS 


O wedding-guest! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea; 

So lonely ’t was that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 


THE great note that distinguishes Christian from heathen 
literature is its fundamental gladness. On the surface it may 
seem sad at times; 


hora novissima, tempora pessima; 


but there is a deep-rooted consolation in the thought, terrible 
though it be, that follows ; 


imminet arbiter ile supremus. 


This at least implies distinctions drawn between what is good and 
what is δα, ἃ moral supremacy in the world of One who is of 
purer eyes than to behold iniquity, and therein the value of life and 
of holy life. The absence of any certainty that life has a permanent 
value is the canker at the heart of heathenism. : 

It is hard to understand aright the heathenism of the Roman 
world. It calls for sympathetic treatment, if we are to read its 
spirit as well as its words. Underneath its varying moods is the 
same weariness, the same restlessness, that shews itself to-day under 
moods very similar. There is the quest for certainty which is 
not to be found. In reason some men sought it and their con- 
clusion was an uncertainty that grew more and more uncertain and 
unhappy. Others turned to religious revival and looked to Cybele, 
to Isis, to Mithras, to any god and every god, and found perhaps 
more comfort than the others, but hardly, if they thought, more 


304 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


certainty. It is worth while to study these lines of inquiry in some 
typical minds, until in Palladas at the end of the fourth century we 
reach the final conclusion to which Greek thought came. : 

The Latin poets of the last century Bc. are so largely influenced 
by Greek thought, and the Latin habit was so commonly to look to 
results rather than to follow methods, that we can gauge by the 
words of the Roman much of the thought of the world. 

Lucretius preaches with fervour the wisdom of Epicurus. The 
gods have no existence, except as shadowy beings who live afar, 
as little concerned with us as men in an undiscovered island. 
There is no hell, no hereafter. No man need shudder at death, 
since in death he will not feel the loss of wife or children, for he 
will be resolved into elements, which will immediately recompose 
into something else, something quite.distinct from the man they 
lately formed. Hence with no higher powers above him, and no 
future world before him, man can rid himself of that religious dread, 
which spoils and poisons all his happiness. He can dismiss the idle 
terrors of death and enjoy life. This was on the whole a dangerous 
theory. It was one thing in the mind of Lucretius, but quite 
another in the more commonplace minds around him. If it was 
not to lead to mere self-indulgence, more self-control and more 
thought were required than were possible for ordinary people. 
But there were other considerations of perhaps even more import- 
ance. 

For there is another side to all this. If a man die, he is free 
from desire to see his dear ones, but what of them? Theirs is 
“the pain of finite hearts that yearn.” ‘Tennyson remarks that no 
poem of farewell to the dead written to-day can have the terrible 
pathos of Catullus’ 


atque IN PERPETUUM frater ave atque vale. 


In perpetuum! If we are to be merry, we must have no brothers, 
then, or not feel it if they die. Yet who would not rather choose 
“the poet’s hopeless woe” ? 

In Horace we find the thought of death as constantly introduced 
as in The Earthly Paradise. How far Lucretius directly influenced 
him, this is not the place to discuss, but it was upon the Epicurean - 
theory that Horace lived—on the whole. He is not consistent. 
He is for enjoying the present, but his views of enjoyment undergo ᾿ 
a change, and as he grows older and his pleasures purer, he seems to 
grow less satisfied with himself and his theory of life. He betrays a 


Palladas 305 


sense of failure; effort and all a man can do for himself are not 
enough, and placid and clean Epicureanism proves inadequate. 

Contemporary with these men were Virgil and Tibullus, who 
have a good deal in common. ‘Tibullus harks back to the gods of 
the countryside. Speculation may have its charms for others, they 
are not for him. He will stand quietly and gladly in the old ways, 
very largely insensible to the currents of philosophic thought. But 
Virgil is a greater mind. His is a greatness that grows on the 
reader who will read him much and with love. He had been caught 
by the spell of Lucretius, by the glory and majesty of the knowledge 
of Nature and her ways— 


felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere caussas— 


he too loved the quiet life that Horace sang, but he knew the 
sorrows of the human heart even better than Catullus knew them. 
Ever and again we hear the note of sorrow in his music, of sorrow 
that will not be assuaged though Pallas or Lausus, Creusa or Dido 
be resolved into insensate atoms, each instinctively swerving in 
search of others to combine with to form another fortuitous con- 
currence, which shall have to learn the same gamut of woe to as 
little purpose. Life after all involves more than atoms. It carries 
with it deep seated affections and tender yearnings, which must 
either imply the reunion of Dido and Sychaeus, of Anchises and 
Aeneas, or else wrap man’s existence in deeper and blacker sorrow. 
Before the eyes of Love hovers 


ipsius wmbra Creusae, 


and the poet turns from the cold and really, if not superficially, 
loveless life Lucretius required, and exclaims 


fortunatus et ille, deos qui novit agrestes. 


It is the revolt of the feelings of the man against the logic of the 
thinker—significant as coming from a disciple, who was also a 
sufferer and a poet. ‘his testimony of heathenism (one can hardly 
write the word of Virgil) td the unsatisfactoriness of Epicurus’ 
godless atoms is remarkable. 

It is not surprising to find, when a Virgil revolts, that for 
common people atheism was inadequate. It appeals indeed to man 
at bis lowest—Ovid was probably an atheist—but let the recollec- 
tion of better things come to the voluptuary and he casts his 
atheism aside for devotion. Sacrifice, lustration, initiation and all 


6. ᾿ 20 


306 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


kinds of ritual flourished alongside of the atheism of the early 
Empire. 

As time went on, the sadness of heathenism deepened. Lucan 
may be glib enough and prove by an epigram that the fall of the 
Roman republic means the non-existence of gods', and Persius may 
be quite happy in a young and innocent life with the view that all 
that is needed is effort and purity follows, without much reference 
to heaven. But the second century saw the pendulum swing away 
from atheism into superstition. ‘The world was growing too un- 
happy to be atheist, and the gods came back from exile and brought 
strange friends with them’. Their votaries had cast them out, and 
now recalled them and “kissed again with tears.” Some might 
mock, but most worshipped, and among the doubters were devotees. 
Three great names stand out in literature at the century’s end, 
Lucian, Marcus Aurelius and Apuleius. 

Lucian, a Syrian Greek of Samosata, was a scoffer in grain. He 
might be serious at times, but never reverent. His position was 


sceptical. There were riddles of life, but no man could ever guess 


them—why try? ‘The gods were excellent butts for flippant wits, 
and nearly as good were the philosophers, the preachers and teachers 
who would not practise what they taught others. His humour is of a 
type not unfamiliar to-day. ΤῸ jest at the scriptures and wittily to 
insinuate that a teacher of Christianity is probably a hypocrite, 
possibly a rogue or certainly a fool, may still please some minds, 
It is not very fresh by now, but perhaps in Lucian’s day it was more 
novel; perhaps, too, such mirth had a shade more truth about it. 
Still I feel that they exaggerate who attribute much weight to 
Lucian and his school in the downfall of paganism. Flippancy is 
not so fatal to a Pantheon as moral dissatisfaction, and in so 
religious an age Christianity grew because it offered men a higher 
ideal itself, and not because scoffers laughed at the ideas of God 
and Truth and every other thing that made for righteousness. 

Perhaps the most read book of the age is the diary of Marcus 
Aurelius—in many ways the saddest of all books. Its manliness 
and purity, its high ideals and earnestness, make more pathetic that 
haunting uncertainty and want of rest, which one feels throughout 
it. The theory of life is so obviously only a working hypothesis, 

1 See vii. 454, 

2 Chassang, Histoire du Roman, Ὁ. 400: ‘* Vers le premier siécle de lére 
chrétienne, la fureur de la magie s’empara de tout le monde paien.” Compare 


the works of Philostratus, especially his Apollonius of Tyana, and Lucian’s 
Lover of Falsehood and Alexander. 


ὯΔ Ae i ἃ . νυ. 


Palladas 307 


unverifiable at best. Whenever doubt clouds religion, men will turn 
to Marcus and see in him perhaps the highest level reached by the 
religious temper that seeks truth but cannot be sure of finding it. 
He is no atheist, no sceptic perhaps, but he looks for heavenly 
guidance and is not conscious of receiving it, and so he makes his 
own way sadly as well as he can. Yet from the story of his life we 
learn that this thinker, this speculator, emancipated as we might 
suppose him from common weakness, sacrificed perhaps more than 
any other Roman Emperor. If he was not to attain light from the 
gods, it was not to be for want of asking it. So doubt and devotion 
went hand in hand in sadness. 

Apuleius in after days passed for a magician; indeed men 
accused him of magic while he lived, but I mention him in order to 
compare his immortal book with one of Lucian’s, one at least at- 
tributed to Lucian by many people. The Golden Ass (a much better 
title than the Metamorphoses and one which has St Augustine’s 
sanction) is either modelled on Lucian’s Lucius, or the Ass’, or more 
probably both are drawn from a common source. Both deal with 
witchcraft, and introduce us to a hero, Lucius, who by meddling with 
a sorceress’ boxes transforms himself into a donkey and in this form 
has a series of wonderful adventures. The Golden Ass follows one 
by one the episodes of Lucian, enlarging and digressing very 
admirably, and giving us a wonderful panorama of provincial life, 
its humours, comedies, tragedies, and above all its perils. There 
are woven into it stories after the manner of Boccaccio’, and of 
the Hundred Mery Tales, adventures with brigands and soldiers 
alike dangerous to honest folk, the exquisite tale of Cupid and 
Psyche, and in a word quidguid agunt homines Asini farrago libelli. 
But the significant thing is that at the end Apuleius entirely departs 
from Lucian. In Lucian the human donkey runs into a procession 
by accident and, finding a priest carrying roses, eats them and is a 
‘man again. In Apuleius he escapes to the sea-shore and delivers 
himself of a long and careful prayer to a goddess of many names and 
prays her for release. She comes to him in a dream, and acknow- 
ledges his prayer, telling him ‘that the many names are indeed all 
her own, but her truest name is Isis, and she directs him to meet the 
procession, when the priest, instructed by her in a similar dream, 


1 See Chassang, Histoire du Roman, pp. 401, 402. 

3 The tale of the cooper, for example, is common to Apuleius and Boccaccio. 
How far does such a fact affect the value of such tales as evidence of the 
-manners and morals of an age? 


20—2 


308 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


will tender him the roses. So it befalls, but while Lucian ends his 
story with one more obscene incident to cap all, Apuleius shews us 
Lucius a converted character, intent on nothing but initiation and 
undergoing no less than three special introductions to the Mysteries 
as a mark of divine favour. And what did he learn by it all? “I 
approached the confine of death ; I trod the threshold of Proserpine ; 
I was borne through all the elements and returned. At midnight 
I saw the sun flashing with fair light. The gods of the lower world 
and the gods of the world above I drew near unto, and I adored 
them from close at hand’.” So ends in initiation and divine 
revelation the most amusing, the most brilliant and the most 
Aristophanic of all books in Latin. 

This is significant. There were instincts in man too strong and 
too profound to accept a negative contlusion or no conclusion at all 
to the great quest. Lucian might mock, and Marcus hesitate; the 
mass of men must believe something. The pity of it was that they 
found nothing better to believe in than Isis and Mithras. 

We are apt to forget how much paganism was left in the fourth 
century. It was not clamorous but quiet and content as a rule to 
be left alone. There were some writers, honest heathens, who said 
nothing one way or another about their tenets. Others found their 
interest in gentle retrospect and old association, their faith a 
sentimental cherishing of ancestral tradition. But the stronger 
spirits went further, and were absorbed and illumined by a 
revived, or rather perhaps a new, heathenism, different in many 
ways from the old heathenism of Greek and Roman, different too 
from that of Phrygian and Egyptian. It appealed to the individual 
as did the latter, but otherwise, for it went deeper than lustration 
and sacrament. It was a faith that appealed to reason, emotion 
and imagination, a blend of everything congruous or incongruous, 
philosophy, theosophy, mysticism, magic, ritual, trance, asceticism, 
what not. One of the most conspicuous of the adherents of this 
new religion is Julian, the more faithful an exponent of it for not 
being an original thinker. He betrays clearly what we feel must 
have had a great deal to do with the revival from long before—the 
influence of Christianity. His grand scheme of the Catholic Church 
of Hellenism has been discussed elsewhere. Its failure was the 
death-knell of heathenism. The latest and grandest of all attacks 
on Christianity was a fiasco, and thinking men must have realized — 
it. And so they did; and in the unhappy Palladas we have one 


1 Apuleius, Met, xi, 28. 


Palladas 309 


who saw the old order pass away giving place to none, and his 
bitter hopelessness is the last dark mood of dying heathenism. Its 
consolations were gone. ‘The exhilarating atheism of Lucretius, 
weighed and found wanting by Virgil, was impossible. The moral 
enthusiasm of Persius, unconscious of weakness, and the moral 
purpose of Marcus, painfully aware that he is not sure of anything, 
were out of the question for the Alexandrian scholar, who could find 
no base to build on and would not build without a base. Apuleius 
and Julian might draw comfort from Isis and from Mithras, but 
Palladas could not find support in gods who could not support 
themselves. As for Lucian’s flippant scepticism, the times forbade 


it. Sceptical a man might be, but the burden of life was too heavy 


for flippancy. So it may repay us to stady for a little the work of 
Palladas. 

In the Greek Anthology, that wonderful garland of the flowers 
and weeds of fifteen centuries of literature, his is one of the most 
frequent names, so frequent indeed as perhaps really to affect the 
colour of the whole. An epigram among the Greeks was at first 
an inscription, and, as almost anything might be inscribed, it came 
to designate roughly anything written in verse, whether in one line 
or a dozen, dealing with any and every conceivable subject. Hence 
in the Anthology, beside inscriptions for tombs, for statues and 
paintings, and dedicatory verses for shrines, we have a highly 
miscellaneous collection of criticisms of life and literature, remarks 
on Providence, Chance and the vagaries of Destiny, “quips and 
cranks and wanton wiles,” jibes, flouts and sneers of,every type of 
humour and sometimes of no humour at all. The earlier epigrams 
have the calm equipoise of all Greek art, rhythm and thought in 
harmony; but as we come to later writers, the epigrams tend more 
and more to resemble those of the Romans, who set the fashion for 
ourselves, and held that an epigram like the apocalyptic scorpion 


‘should wear its sting in its tail. Naturally a degeneration set in, 


when poetry yielded place to point and pun, and the epigram was 
gradually abandoned by the poet to the versifier. 
Palladas’ has been called, rather cruelly, versificator insulsissi- 


? T only know of one allusion to Palladas in ancient literature. An epigram 
of a conventional character exists, in which the writer gently deprecates being 
compared with Palladas (or Palladius, as the exigencies of verse require). 
I think it will be seen from the epigrams to be quoted that neither in virtue of 
his inspiration nor his music was Palladas the man to found a school. Is it 
impossible that Claudian, a fellow-citizen and contemporary of his, means 


-Palladas, when he writes Sic non Tartareo furiarum verbere pulsus | irati 


relegam carmina grammatici? 


310 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


mus. He is partly to blame for this, even if it is a little hard. On 
the same subject he will make epigram after epigram, though his 
theme be at best as trivial as his lines. His verse is apt to be 
lumbering, and he will repeat the same thought without adding 
materially to the force of its expression. Somewhat lacking in 
grace, he does not always achieve point, and sometimes when he 
does the point is poor. Yet Palladas must and will be heard. We 
have one hundred and fifty of his epigrams, and we have no reason 
to believe that these were all he wrote, yet of them we might 
sacrifice a half or two-thirds without any substantial loss. 

The greater number of these little poems deal with one subject, 
and the spirit in which he writes of it, his savage insistence, and 
the terrible humour with which he clothes and reclothes his one 
idea in one startling garb and another, gloomy and grim, command 
attention for him. ‘The melancholy and the misery of life, the 
vanity and vexatiousness of things are his constant burden. Of all 
Greek writers he is most like Theognis. We must bear in mind 
however that it is not always easy to say for how much of the work 
that bears his name Theognis was responsible. And at all events 
Theognis, whatever he may have disbelieved, had a saving faith in 
gentlemen, in birth and breeding, which may not be so satisfying a 
faith as some, but has fine elements nevertheless. Palladas had not 
that faith; possibly there were not many Greek gentlemen left in 
the fourth century. Over and above his atheism he has a highly 
developed disbelief in man. 

Society in»Alexandria in Palladas’ day is perhaps best known 
to the English reader in Kingsley’s novel Hypatia. If heathenism 
was exhausted and had nothing to offer the weary soul, Chris- 
tianity as a spiritual system could hardly have been attractive 
when presented by such men as the bishops Theophilus and Cyril. 
When honest heathen thought ill of Athanasius, what can they have 
thought of his successors? and if the rulers of the Church were such, 
what was to be expected from officials like Orestes? and there were 
worse men than Orestes, as we may read in the pages of Ammianus 
Marcellinus. 

Hence we need not be surprised at the tone of Palladas about 
society, about great men and their toadies. Rulers with pleasant 
manners, he says, are generally thieves; and honest rulers generally 
have nasty manners’. (Gold is a terror to possess, and anguish not 


1 Anth. P. ix. 393. 


SS eC rl el er ee 


Palladas : 311 


to possess’. ‘The rich are insolent, and if they deviate into polite- 
ness their compliments—dinners’, presents or what not—are usually 
the refinement of insult. Zeus himself, if he were poor, would be 
treated with outrage. ‘There is just a possibility that Palladas may 
have been soured by waiting in vain for promotion. At any rate an 
epigram speaks of years of wretchedness and literature, and the 
final descent into Hades of a Councillor of the Dead. Did 
promotion come too late to be enjoyable? the point is a small one and 
does not greatly matter. The main thing is, that society was rotten. 

Palladas was a grammarian, a student and a teacher of the 


ancient literature of Greece, still every whit as precious and 
- absorbing as it had ever been, It is astonishing to us to realize 


what delight men took in the form, quite apart from the spirit, of 
Greek literature. Now Palladas does not seem to take delight in it 
at all. A man may—many men do—lament the miseries of a 
profession freely chosen and not really distasteful; it is a form of 
humour, perhaps of modesty ; but at all events the scholar and the 
artist are apt to take a joy in their work, to feel enthusiasm for 
what they are doing, and what other men have done before them. 
In no republic is there so much loyalty as in that of letters, but it 
is difficult to discover in Palladas a line that implies delight in his 
work. One or another of his epigrams about it may well be ironic, 
but the general impression is of a yoke borne without much love. 
Here and there he speaks of selling his books*, for Syntax is the 
death of him—not an unpardonable feeling surely—but we find him 
out when he deals with Homer. Even here he displays no feeling 
for the greatest of Greek poets. He uses him freely, and abuses 
him as freely. His great discovery is that Homer was a misogynist. 
Circe points a moral to keep good company‘, and the general gist of 
both liad and Odyssey is that woman is a failure. 

All women, good or bad, are snares, 

All deadly, Homer’s self declares: 

Men die for Helen’s sin: like waste 

Attends Penelope the chaste. 


Thus springs from woman, good or bad, 
An Odyssey, an [liad®. 


1 Anth. P. ix. 394. 2 Anth, P. ix. 377, 484, 487. 
3 Anth. P. ix. 171, 175. 4 Anth. P. x. 50. 
5 Πᾶσαν Ὅμηρος ἔδειξε κακὴν σφαλερήν τε γυναῖκα, 
σώφρονα καὶ πόρνην ἀμφοτέρας ὄλεθρον. 
ἐκ γὰρ τῆς Ἑλένης μοιχευσαμένης φόνος ἀνδρῶν, 
καὶ διὰ σωφροσύνην Ἰ]ηνελόπης θάνατοι. 
Ἴλιας οὖν τὸ πόνημα μιᾶς χάριν ἐστὶ γυναικός" 
αὕταρ ᾿Οδυσσείῃ Πηνελόπη πρόφασις. Anth, P. ix. 166. 


312 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Women provoke Palladas, or perhaps he is only jesting. — Still 
one feels he jests too much and with tools of too sharp an edge. 
The married grammarian comes in for several epigrams, generally as 
the husband of a shrew. Perhaps this is the best of them: 


An Iliad of wrath I read; 

An Iliad of wrath I wed; 

Too much of wrath for one poor life, 
Wrath of Achilles, wrath of wifel 


Woman is the anger of Zeus*—given to man in wrath, to 
balance the blessing of fire*. Zeus himself has a sad life of it 
with Hera, and has had to kick her out of heaven more than once ; 
Homer tells us that. 

One more epigram and we can leave that wearisome Iliad. 


Achilles’ wrath, to me the direful spring 

Of beggary, I a poor grammarian sing. 

Ah! would that wrath, ere I starvation knew 
Had with those other Danaans slain me too: 
That Helen and Briseis both might be 

Rapt from their lords, I came to beggary’. 


A non sequitur, but what of that? There is many a non sequitur in 
misery. 

Before passing on to his more general reflexions on life, it may 
be well to give a few instances of his humour when he is in a lighter 
mood. Even here he does not lack a certain pungency, nearer 
perhaps to Martial than to the Greeks of the earlier days when 
epigrams were at their best. 


1 Mivw οὐλομένην γαμετὴν ὁ τάλας γεγάμηκα, 
καὶ παρὰ τῆς τέχνης μήνιδος ἀρξάμενος. 
Guo ἐγὼ πολύμηνις, ἔχων τριχόλωτον ἀνάγκην, 
τέχνης γραμματικῆς καὶ γαμετῆς μαχίμης. 
Anth. P. ix. 168. : 
2 Anth. P. ix. 165. 
3 Anth. P. ix. 167. Cf. also x. 55 and 56 on the woman question and note 
the almost brutal bitterness of the line ef σώφρων ἐστὶ γυνή τις ὅλως. 
4 Maus ᾿Αχιλλῆος Kal ἐμοὶ πρόφασις γεγένηται 
οὐλομένης πενίης γραμματικευσαμένῳ. 
εἴθε δὲ σὺν Δαναοῖς με κατέκτανε μῆνις ἐκείνη, 
πρὶν χαλεπὸς λιμὸς γραμματικῆς ὀλέσει. 
ἀλλ᾽ ἵν᾽ ἀφαρπάξῃ Βρισηΐδα πρὶν ᾿Αγαμέμνων 
τὴν Ἑλένην δ᾽ ὁ Πάρις πτωχὸς ἐγὼ γενόμην. 
Anth. P. ix. 169. 


Ee οψυσυ σῪυ΄ 


Palladas 


I chid my belly for foul treason, 

And made it list to words of reason; 
Belly below and mind atop— 

Why can’t their foolish wrestling stop!? 


313 


A happy thought, not ill put perhaps, but very far from the high- 
water-mark of Greek poetry. It lacks grace and shews the heavy 


hand of the versifier. Here is another rather neater. 


Daphne the snub-nosed Memphis danced, 
And Niobe danced he; 

A stock indeed his Daphne was, 
A stone his Niobe? 


The joke was however common property, such as it was. 
following has a little more originality. 


So lazy is Pantaenetus that he 
In fever prayed he never more might rise; 
He bettered, though, and “Thence we all may see 
“In Heaven’s deaf ears,” he vows, “no succour lies*.” 


The 


He looks out on life, takes a broad survey of it—its starving 
teachers, rich churls, villain rulers, successful murderers* and 
quarrelsome wives—its freaks, its topsy-turveydoms and general 
irrationality, and his conclusion is irritation, disgust and un- 
happiness. The only power worth considering is Chance or 
Fortune, a feminine personification with every feminine vice as 


he loves to emphasize. 


1 Νηδὺν ἀναίσχυντον στιβαροῖς ἤσχυνα λογισμοῖς, 
σωφροσύνῃ κολάσας ἔντερον ἀργαλέον. 
εἰ γὰρ ἔχω τὸν νοῦν ἐπικείμενον ὑψόθι γαστρός, 
πῶς μὴ νικήσω τὴν ὑποτασσομένην; 
Anth. P. ix. 170. 


2 Δάφνην καὶ Νιόβην ὠρχήσατο Μέμφις ὁ σιμός, 
ὡς ξύλινος Δάφνην, ὡς λίθινος Νιόβην. 


ib. xi. 255. 


3 Οὕτως ἐστ᾽ ἀργὸς Πανταίνετος, wore πυρέξας 
μηκέτ᾽ ἀναστῆναι παντὸς ἐδεῖτο θεοῦ. 
καὶ νῦν οὐκ ἐθέλων μὲν ἐγείρεται, ἐν δέ οἱ αὐτῷ 
κωφὰ θεῶν ἀδίκων οὔατα μεμφόμενος. 
ib, xi. 311. 


4 Anth. P. x. 58, If murderers thrive—well! Zeus rules, and he would have 
murdered Kronos, had Kronos been a mortal. But cf. ix. 378, a murderer saved 


by Serapis from a falling wall for the gibbet. 


314 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Nor rhyme nor reason tyrant Fortune knows; 
Mere random whims dispose her vagrant course; 

Bad men she leans to and the good o’erthrows— 
The more to flaunt the might of senseless force!. 


Our life’s a slave that runs away, 
And Fortune is a courtesan; 
We needs must laugh to see their play, 
Or else must weep to mark alway 
_ The worthless is the happier man?. 


Life is the toy of Fortune, and can tell 

Of piteous change; now all goes ill, now well; 
Some like a ball come down and then go up, 

And some have fallen from the clouds to hell* 


Life is a dangerous voyage; sterm-winds fling us 
Where worse than shipwrecked mariners we lie; 
Chance, the one pilot of man’s life, will bring us 
Chance knoweth where as o’er the seas we fly. 
Some meet good weather; others ill have found; 
All make the common anchorage underground‘. 


And if all these cheerful statements are true? What can a man 
do in a world where forethought is waste of time? 


Get riches, and what then? the coffin’s lid 
The company of thy coffer will forbid; 


1 Οὐ λόγον οὐ νόμον olde Τύχη, μερόπων δὲ τυραννεῖ 
τοῖς ἰδίοις ἀλόγως ῥεύμασι συρομένη. 
μᾶλλον τοῖς ἀδίκοισι ῥέπει, μισεῖ δὲ δικαίους, 
ὡς ἐπιδεικνυμένη τὴν ἄλογον δύναμιν. 
Anth. P. x. 62. 


2*Av μὴ γελῶμεν τὸν βίον τὸν δραπέτην 
Τύχην τε πόρνης ῥεύμασιν κινουμένην, 
ὀδυνὴν ἑαυτοῖς προξενοῦμεν πάντοτε 
ἀναξίους ὁρῶντες εὐτυχεστέρους. 
ib. 87. 


3 Παίγνιόν ἐστι Τύχης μερόπων Bios, οἰκτρός, ἀλήτης, 
πλούτου καὶ πενίης μεσσόθι ῥεμβόμενος. 
καὶ τοὺς μὲν κατάγουσα πάλιν σφαιρηδὸν ἀείρει, 
τοὺς δ᾽ ἀπὸ τῶν νεφελῶν εἰς ᾿Αίδην κατάγει. 


ib. 80. 


4 Πλοῦς σφαλερὸς τὸ ζῆν᾽ χειμαζόμενοι yap ἐν αὐτῷ 
πολλάκι ναυηγῶν πταίομεν οἰκτρότερα" 
τὴν δὲ Τύχην βιότοιο κυβερνήτειραν ἔχοντες, 
ὡς ἐπὶ τοῦ πελάγους ἀμφίβολοι πλέομεν" 
οἱ μὲν ἐπ᾽ εὐπλοΐην, οἱ δ᾽ ἔμπαλιν" ἀλλ᾽ ἅμα πάντες 
εἰς ἕνα τὸν κατὰ γῆς ὅρμον ἀπερχόμεθα. 
ib. 65. 


OO ὩΣ ΨΥ ἡ ον πὰ 


Palladas 315 


Add wealth and time subtract; and what remains? 
Life not an hour the longer for thy pains}. 


Ts it not the same lesson that we learn from Omar ? 


Some for the glories of this world and some 

Sigh for the prophet’s Paradise to come ; 
Ah! take the cash and let the credit go, 

Nor heed the rumble of the distant drum. 


Taking the cash and letting the credit go commonly means eating 
and drinking, especially drinking, and so Palladas teaches. 


Eat thou and drink, and shut thine eyes. to woe; 
Belike the dead no stomach-ache will know; 
Twelve children buried, Homer lets us see, 

Her appetite was left to Niobe? ; 


Why toil in vain and strive against the star 
That marked your birth with its controlling presence ; 
Give way and quarrel not with things that are— 
Accept your fate in silent acquiescence— 
Or rather catch at joy; be your employment 
To steal a march on Fate and taste enjoyment’. 


If this course of life is a failure, there is always death to fall 
back on, and once death is passed there is no sorrow left‘. 

Living in Alexandria Palladas must have been in constant 
contact with Christians—and such Christians! Riotous monks and 
courtier bishops were not the best preachers of the faith, but one 


1 Πλουτεῖς, καὶ τί τὸ λοιπόν ; ἀπερχόμενος, μετὰ σαυτοῦ 
τὸν πλοῦτον σύρεις, εἰς σορὸν ἑλκόμενος ; 
τὸν πλοῦτον συνάγεις δαπανῶν χρόνον" οὐ δύνασαι δὲ 
ζωῆς σωρεῦσαι μέτρα περισσότερα. : 
Anth. P. 60. 
The triple pun of the Greek I am afraid I have failed to represent. 


2 "Kote πῖνε μύσας ἐπὶ πένθεσιν" ob γὰρ ἔοικεν 
γαστερὶ πενθῆσαι νεκρόν" “Ὅμηρος ἔφη. 
καὶ γὰρ ὁμοῦ θάψασαν ὀλωλότα δώδεκα τέκνα 
σίτου μνησαμένην τὴν Νιόβην παράγει. 
ib. 41. 
The reference is to the Iliad xxiv. 602 Νιόβη ἐμνήσατο σίτου. 


ὃ Tirre μάτην ἄνθρωπε πονεῖς καὶ πάντα ταράσσεις 
κλήρῳ δουλεύων τῷ κατὰ τὴν γένεσιν ; 
τούτῳ σαυτὸν ἄφες, τῷ δαίμονι μὴ φιλονείκει" 
σὴν δὲ τύχην στέργων, ἡσυχίαν ἀγάπα. 
μᾶλλον ἐπ᾽ εὐφροσύνην δὲ βιάζεο, καὶ παρὰ μοίρην 
εἰ δυνατὸν ψυχὴν τερπομένην μετάγειν. 
ib. 77. 
4 Anth. P, x..59. 


316 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


feels here and there in his work a hint of some knowledge of 
Christianity. For example; everything that lives can feel anger, 
and may not I with an angry word requite him who does me 
an ill deed’? Again, he hints at possibilities after death, and 
his language, though it may be called vague, seems to recall 
Christian eschatology. Body, suffering of soul, Hades, burden, 
destiny, fetters and tortures ;—and then freed from the body to face 
an eternal God—qevyer πρὸς θεὸν ἀθάνατον", God he takes to be a 
philosopher, not promptly angered by blasphemy, but taking his 
time to prepare punishment for bad and tiresome men. What again 
does this mean 4 


Weep not, nor faint: how short a life we know! 
Short beside that to be, there’s no denial; 

Till the worm breed and to thé grave you go, 
Break not your spirit, while as yet on trial®. 


Add to these indications his very plain-spoken epigram on the 
monks. We read of communities of them in the Thebaid two or 
three thousand strong. Well may he ask, “If solitaries (μοναχοί), 
why so many? So many, how solitaries*?” 

In 391 the Christians led by the Archbishop and the Governor 
destroyed the Serapeum at Alexandria, the most famous and sacred 
of temples’. The tables were turned. Palladas has one or two 
mysterious epigrams on the superlative folly of not being friendly 
with the favourites of God, which of course may be taken in more 
ways than one, but this on seeing an image of Hercules thrown out 
somewhere is noteworthy and unmistakable. © 


On the cross-roads I saw Jove’s brazen son, 
That once had worship but his day seems done; 
“Ah! guardian god!” in bitter rage I say, 

“So long unconquered thou art fall’n to-day!” 


1 Anth. P. x. 49. 2 Anth. P. x. 88. 


3 “Plate γόους, μὴ κάμνε, πόσον χρόνον ἐνθάδε μίμνων, 
ὡς πρὸς ἐκεῖνον ὅλον τὸν μετὰ ταῦτα βίον. 
πρὶν τοίνυν σκώληκα βαλεῖν τύμβοις τε ῥιφῆναι, 
μὴ δαμάσῃς ψυχὴν ζῶν ἔτι κρινομένην. 
Anth. P. x. 78. 


4 Anth. P. xi. 384. The references to Judgment to come might be Neo- 
Platonic. 

5 See Rufinus, Ε. H. ii. 22—24; Soer. v. 16, 17. On the threatening fall of 
paganism in Egypt, the Latin translation of Hermes Trismegistus (ed. Bipont. 
Apul. vol. ii. pp. 307—309) may be consulted. 


ΠΥ ΡΥ a 


Palladas 317 


By night he came to me and smiled, “My friend! 
“Know, to the tempest ev’n a god must bend}.” 


Enough commentary is supplied by the epigram on the Olympian 
dwellers at Marina’s house who have turned Christian and need 
fear no melting-pot or bellows’. Gods were melted down and 
became very common articles in those days, as an epigram shews, 
the sense of which is clear though the text is corrupt. 


A smith, a most discerning man, 
Turns Love into a frying-pan. 

Why ‘most discerning,’ you inquire? 
How close are frying-pan and fire! 


With gods turning into pots and pans, men may well bow to the 
tempest, but it will hardly make them happy to do so. When 
Palladas sees the muddle of life, his conclusion is “hatred of every- 
thing,” μισῶ τὰ πάντα, and, whether he refer to a Greek or a 
Christian Providence, he sums all up so: 


If care will avail you, then care and prepare; 

But why care for yourself though, if Providence care? 
Yet ‘tis Providence makes you or care or forbear, 
For Providence cares that you’ve cares and to spare’, 


“ His one enthusiasm was oddly enough for a woman. Hypatia, 
the more famous daughter of the philosopher Theon, was one of the 
most conspicuous figures in Alexandria. A Platonist of the school 
of Plotinus, she lectured publicly, and pupils gathered from every 
quarter. She mingled freely with the rulers, and for her splendid 
' dignity all men respected and feared her. She was a great friend 
of Orestes the prefect, and in Church circles they said she kept him 
from making friends with Cyril the bishop. Some hot-heads, led 
by one Peter, a reader, conspired, watched for her, tore her from her 
chariot and dragged her into the Church called the Caesareum. They 


1 Tov Διὸς ἐν "τριόδοισιν ἐθαύμασα χάλκεον via, 
τὸν πρὶν ἐν εὐχωλαῖς νῦν παραριπτόμενον. 
ὀχθήσας δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἔειπον" ᾿Αλεξίκακε τρισέληνε, 
μηδέποθ᾽ ἡττηθείς, σήμερον ἐξετάθης. 
νυκτὶ δὲ μειδιόων με θεὸς προσέειπε παραστάς" 
καιρῷ δουλεύειν καὶ θεὸς ὧν ἔμαθον. 
᾿ Anth. P. ix. 441. 
2 ix. 528. 
3 Ei τὸ μέλειν δύναταί τι, μερίμνα καὶ μελέτω σοι. 
εἰ δὲ μέλει περὶ σοῦ δαίμονι, σοὶ τί μέλει; 
οὔτε μεριμνήσεις δίχα δαίμονος, οὔτ᾽ ἀμελήσεις" 
ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα σοί τι μέλῃ, δαίμονι τοῦτο μέλει. 


ib, x. 34, 


318 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


stripped her of her raiment, and did her to death with potsherds, 
and then after tearing her limb from limb they picked up the 
fragments and burnt them. ‘This, says the historian whom I have 
been paraphrasing, brought no small shame on Cyril and the 
Church of Alexandria, for murders and fights and the like are 
utterly alien to such as have the mind of Christ’. This was in 
415 and this is the only fixed date we have in Palladas’ life. 
“When I see thee,’ he says to her, “I worship thee and thy 
discourses, seeing that the home of the maiden is with the stars. 
For thy practice is with heaven, holy Hypatia, beauty of language, 
pure star of philosophy’.” 

Deaths like this shocked the Christian conscience and may well 
have deepened in men like Palladas the feeling that Chance and 
brute Unreason ruled the world. One\is tempted to wonder whether 
she was in his mind when he wrote 

We are but fattened as men fatten swine, 
Death the one guest that on us all shall dine: 


Now this, now that, as he may list, he slays, 
And never recks of reason or design’. 


Hypatia’s death however was not needed to shew mankind that 
the old order was dead. Palladas knew it and it added to his load 
of bitterness. We Greeks, he says, are men already burnt upon the 
funeral pyre: ours are the buried hopes of dead men, for all the 
world is upside down to-day*. Elsewhere he laments 


O men of Hellas, but that men still deem 
Us living, we are dead. Alive we seem, 

But, lit on such misfortune, if we live, 
Or seem, life dead, to live—’tis but a dream’. 


1 Socrates vii. 15. 


3 Ὅταν βλέπω σε προσκυνῶ καὶ τοὺς λόγους, 
τῆς παρθένου τὸν οἶκον ἀστρῴον βλέπων. 
εἰς οὐρανὸν yap ἐστι σοῦ τὰ πράγματα, 
Ὑπατία σεμνή, τῶν λόγων εὐμορφία, 
ἄχραντον ἄστρον τῆς σοφῆς παιδεύσεως. 
5 Anth. P. ix. 400. 
I sometimes wonder whether ix. 508 may not also be addressed to Hypatia. 


3 Πάντες τῷ θανάτῳ τηρούμεθα καὶ τρεφόμεσθα 
ὡς ἀγέλη χοίρων σφαζομένων ἀλόγως. 


ib. x. 85. 
4 Anth. P. x. 90. 
5 +7Apa unt θανόντες τῷ δοκεῖν ζῶμεν μόνον 
Ἕλληνες ἄνδρες συμφορᾷ πεπτωκότες" 
ὄνειρον εἰκάζοντες εἶναι τὸν βίον, 
εἰ ζῶμεν ἡμεῖς τοῦ βίου τεθνηκότος. 
ib. x. 82. 


eS 


Palladas 319 


Palladas in spirit is the last of the heathen. He had ceased to 
take joy in the old, he hated the new. Life was all wrong and the 
Greek world was infinitely weary. Heathen literature might throw 
out branches still here and there, as a tree will throw out branches 
though its roots are not healthy. Literature was at its last. ‘The 
old religion was worse than dead; it was discovered for an idle 
thing. Philosophy’, scepticism and atheism gave no comfort but 
proved an apple of Sodom, and heathenism was in a word death in 
life*. There were, as Palladas says, those who kept up a semblance 
of life, pretended to be alive, dreamt they lived, but men who 
thought and. men who saw knew they were dead. The day of old 
Hellas was done. Her inheritance passed to the Church, and part 
was incorporated in the common life of Europe and part wrapped up 
in a napkin till the Renaissance. Nothing of value is permanently 
lost, and it is not very necessary to bewail the lost Hellenism. The 
attempt to revive it, without heeding the ten centuries that had 
passed, was unhappy, for the world can never be heathen again, and 
all that was essential and permanent in the mind of the Greek still 
lives. But none the less, if we need not sorrow over Hellenism, 
they at least may claim compassion who could conceive of no other 
light of life, and when it failed found themselves in the horror of 
thick darkness. 


1 Even before he became a Christian, Synesius admitted that Philosophy 
was in danger of dying out, unless supported by the Emperor’s example; ἐπεὶ 
νῦν γε, ws ἠμέληται, κίνδυνος ἀποσβῆναι, kal μετὰ μικρὸν οὐδ᾽ ἐμπύρευμα λείπεσθαι 
βουλομένοις ἐναῦσαι, though, of course, Philosophy will always flourish in heaven 
(de Regno, 22). | 

2 Probably the acme of bitterness and horror is reached in the epigram 
Anth. P. x. 45. ‘It is good to know the truth for the truth” perhaps, but is it 
all the truth ? 5 


CHAPTER XIV 


SYNESIUS 


- ol τ ᾽ 
οἰκεῖον ἀλήθεια Θεῷ, ᾧ διὰ πάντων ἀναίτιος εἶναι βούλομαι. 


Ep. 105, 1488.4 


Every reader of Pindar and Herodotus remembers Battus the 
stammerer, and how he founded the Dorian colony Cyrene, and 
established there a dynasty to grow rich on the products of a land 
with three seasons and to win chariot-races at the Pythian games. 
Already we can see the characteristic features of the land which are 
permanent in its history. A land of flocks and herds, of wheat and 
wine, of roses and silphium, a land of hunting, and above all a land 
of horses. Pindar shews us the nymph Cyrene “88 she struggled 
alone, without spear, with a terrible lion,” and Nonnus, the last 
great poet of the Greeks, once more calls her “the slayer of lions.” 
As for the horses, Herodotus says, rightly or wrongly, that it was 
from the Libyans of this region that the Greeks adopted the four- 
horse chariot, and Callimachus, her great poet (cited by Strabo), 
calls his country “blest in her steeds” (εὐίππου πατρίδος), “Cyrene 
grew great,” says Strabo (c. 837), writing about the’ beginning of our 
era, “by the virtue of her land; for it is the best of all lands in 
breeding horses and is blest in its fruits.’ Again in Synesius it is 
the same. In his youth he was scolded for “being mad for arms 
and mad for horses beyond what was fitting,” and when he is to be 
made bishop he sighs to think that “his dear dogs will never go 
a-hunting more.” Modern travellers tell us of pictures of hunting 
scenes still preserved in the monuments of Cyrene and of the 
abundant opportunities for the chase the country still offers. 

The dynasty of Battus and Arkesilas passed away, and Greek 
democracy ran its course in Cyrene. Wars with Carthaginians and 
Persians ended with Persian control. ‘Taught by experience, the 


a i a i a ,...ὕ es 


ae 


mad 


Synesius 321 


Cyrenians yielded without a blow to Alexander, and under his 
successors Cyrene belonged to Egypt—a doubtful blessing to the 
Ptolemies, for it was too far away to become one with Egypt and so 
near as to be a splendid vantage-ground for rebel and~ pretender. 
Prof. Mahaffy says it was a sort of Ireland to Egypt. Ptolemy 
Apion left the land by will to the Romans in 963.0. Under 
Augustus it was a senatorial province—a sure sign of its peace- 
fulness. 

Now another aspect of Cyrenian life comes before us. As in 
Egypt, so in Cyrene, the Ptolemies had deliberately encouraged the 
settlement of large numbers of Jews—who might develope commerce 
and begin denationalization In the New Testament we find the 
Cyrenian Jews no inconsiderable element of the Dispersion and 
strongly represented at Jerusalem, where they shared a synagogue 
with the Alexandrians. It was “ἃ man of Cyrene” who carried the 
Cross. Josephus now and again refers to his countrymen at Cyrene, 
recording among other things how they got a charter permitting 
them to send freely their “sacred money” to the Temple. But the 
most striking episode in the Roman history of Cyrene was the 
rising of the Jews against Trajan, when they killed, it is said, two 
hundred thousand Gentiles. As the Roman forces would probably 
exact ample vengeance for those thus butchered, the loss in popu- 
lation to Cyrene must have been enormous. Whether the land 
suffered with the rest of the Roman Empire from the great plague, 
which “filled the world” under Marcus Aurelius, we are not told. 
Tn any case the depopulation from which the Empire was universally 
suffering (Jews excepted) was probably helped forward by this out- 
break, and all hope of recovery lost. 

Ammianus, speaking of the province in his day, mentions Cyrene 
first in his list of towns—“an ancient city though now deserted, 
which the Spartan Battus founded.” ‘The last blow to the town 
had been dealt when Apollonia, in Strabo’s times its port, was made 
independent. The haven Phycus, of which Synesius often speaks, 
and where his brother lived, was insignificant, and with the trade 
the prosperity passed away. ‘‘Cyrene,” says Synesius, “a Greek 
city, with an ancient and honourable name, hymned a hundred 
times by the wise of old; but now she is poor and downcast, a 
great ruin in need of the Emperor's aid, if her fortune is to be at 
all worthy of her ancient history” (de Regno c. 2). 

That ancient history, ἀρχαιολογία, and the hymns of the wise 
were part of the consciousness of this last great Cyrenian. Pindar’s 


G. 21 


322 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


poetry was only part of the retrospect. Callimachus and _ his 
successor at the Museum, the great geographer Eratosthenes, were 
both Cyrenians, and among philosophers Carneades, the founder of 
the Third Academy, and Aristippus, who gave his country’s name 
to the Cyrenaic school’, The last two, curiously enough, alone are 
mentioned by Synesius—‘‘the famous land of Cyrene was once 
inhabited by a Carneades and an Aristippus, but now by a John 
and a Julius” (Zp. 50). But the peculiar pride of Synesius was in 
his ancestry—‘“‘from Eurysthenes who led the Dorians to Sparta 
down to my father my pedigree is carved on the public monuments” 
(xipBeow Ep. 57, 13938). Elsewhere he goes still further back— 
“the public monuments of Cyrene shew the succession from Herakles 
to me” (Catastasis i. 15728). It was no empty boast. On the 
eve of battle he writes to his brother, “I am a Laconian by descent 
and I know the message the magistrates sent Leonidas, ‘Let them 
fight as if to die and they will not die’” (Hp. 113). Elsewhere he 
prays that such glory (κῦδος) may be given to his deeds as will befit 
the ancient fame of Cyrene and of Sparta (Hymn 5). 

Two hundred and fifty years intervene between the Jewish 
revolt and Synesius’ birth, during which we hear but little of 
Cyrene. Then for some fifteen years we know the land as never 
before, and after that we only hear now and again of its gradual 
downfall*. In 616 Chosroes invaded it and in 647 the Arabs. Its 
conquest by the latter followed that of Egypt as an immediate 
consequence, and to secure it the Greek race and Greek civilization 
were blotted out in accordance with Saracen policy. To-day it is 
occupied by strolling Arabs. 

The writings of Synesius are extremely interesting. “A man 
of many and wandering thoughts,” to use Mrs Browning’s description 
of him’, whatever he may be thinking about at the moment, he can 
express with ease and with charm. It will hardly be expected that 
such a man can be original or profound, but after all it is a great 
deal if a writer is delightful. Yet he is more than that. To 


1 We may also count Sabellius here. Socrates (i. 5, 2) calls him a “ Libyan.” 
On the other side, diametrically opposed to him, we may reckon Arius’ two loyal 
bishops, Theonas of Marmarica, and Secundus of Ptolemais, Synesius’ future 
see (Socr. i. 9, 4). 

2 Procopius tells of Justinian’s attempts at restoration. He repaired the 
aqueducts of Ptolemais and fortified two monasteries to the south (the expres- 
sion gg Synesius’ statement of his home’s situation) to check the barbarian 
inroads. 

3 Is it Sophocles in her mind, O. JT. 67 πολλὰς ὁδοὺς ἐλθόντα φροντίδος 
πλάνοις ὃ ' 


Synesius 323 


the historical student he is valuable on several grounds—for the 
picture he gives of the Empire battling with its Goths within and 
more savage barbarians without’, for the insight his letters allow 
into the daily life of a Roman province, its pleasures, scandals, 
anxieties and dangers, travel, sea-faring, business and agriculture, 
for his illustration of the process by which Neo-Platonism and 
Christianity ran into each other, for hints on the difficulties of a 
modest bishop and for one more example, the happiest of all, of the 
education and literary taste of his age. On all of these points a 
good deal might be said, but I shall in general confine myself to the 
first three, grouping what I shall have to say mainly, but not 
rigorously, according to the chronology of his life. 

Synesius was born somewhere between or near the years 365 
and 370. As neither father nor mother is mentioned as alive in 
any of his writings, it is assumed that they died when he was still 
young, leaving him and his sister Stratonice perhaps to the care 
of an elder brother Euoptius, for whom Synesius had always the 
deepest regard and affection. His boyhood, as we have seen, was a 
thoroughly healthy one, given over to arms and horses—to hunting 
in fact, the Macedonian ideal as opposed to Greek athletics. 
Athletes were in poor repute now, and Porphyry set them down 
among the stupid classes. Leisure and a “waveless” calm of dis- 
position were Synesius’ ideals from boyhood (Hp. 57, 1388 4), but 
never mere laziness or unprofitable inertia. A life without disturb- 
ance was needful for the intercourse of the soul with God. It 
should be distinctly understood from the outset that this was 
throughout his idea of religion or philosophy, for with him they 
are one. Confusion will be avoided if we remember that both 
before and after becoming a Christian he uses the language of 
Neo-Platonism almost invariably in speaking of serious things. 

He went to Alexandria to study philosophy under Hypatia, to 
whom he was devoted ever after. Nor was she the only friend he 
made there, for to others of her pupils and the members of her 
circle he became warmly attached. ‘To Herculian he writes that 
there is a special bond in the fact that “we both saw with our own 
eyes and heard with our own ears the true exponent of the mysteries 

1 Tt should be remarked how little he is conscious of the Western half of the 
Empire—few Greeks indeed were—e.g. he did not know that the Emperor 
Honorius was consul in 404 (Zp. 133), and though he outlived the event he gives 


no hint of having heard of the capture of Rome by the Goths in 410. He must 
however have known of it. 


21—2 


824 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


of philosophy” (Zp. 137). He also made the acquaintance of 
another circle, which was Christian and with which his relations 
were eventually to be closer. But perhaps Hypatia still came first. 
To her he sent his books, to have her approval before they were 
published (Hp. 154), and she alone could tempt him to leave his 
native Libya, where he was born and where his fathers’ graves were 
still in honour (Zp. 124), though he did not leave it even for her. 

From Alexandria he returned home, and very soon (about 397) 
was sent to Constantinople on an embassy to the Emperor to procure 
some remission of taxation for the “poor and downcast” Cyrene. 
His birth, his position as a country gentleman, and his brilliance 
would explain the selection of so young a man. A greater contrast 
than that between Cyrene and Constantinople could hardly be 
imagined. Here, if anywhere, leisure of mind should have been 
impossible. 

In 330 Constantine had founded his new Rome on the Bosporus 
with the enforced aid of “the wealth, the labour and all that yet 
remained of the genius of obedient millions.” Where the art of the 
day failed, antiquity supplied its place, and works of art were 
removed from the cities of Greece and Asia to adorn the capital 
and the magnificent buildings that studded its two thousand acres. 
But it did not depend on ancient art alone; it was a city of blazing 
splendours, splendours of Emperor and bishop and minister. But 
more interesting to a man of Synesius’ quick mind must have been 
the great personages of the city—the eunuch Prime Minister 
Eutropius, whose picture has been drawn for ever by Claudian ; the 
Gothic captain Gainas, sometime the agent of Stilicho in the murder 
of Rufinus; the Frank or half-Frank Empress Eudoxia, gorgeous in 
her toilets and violent in her hatreds; Aurelian, the leader of the 
patriot or at least anti-Gothic party, a man unlike some of his 
rivals in being able to mention a father who had merited and 
attained distinction ; the new metropolitan (398), the saintly and 
ascetic Chrysostom, greatest of preachers and most honourable 
of bishops; the infamous opponent of Aurelian, whoever the man 
may have been whom Synesius calls “‘I'yphos”; and last and least 
significant of all the Emperor, the dull, heavy-eyed and “bovine” — 
Arcadius. 

Synesius attached himself to the party of Aurelian, but three 
years elapsed before he secured the end for which he came—“three 
evil years lost to my life!” In the meantime he saw and bore his 


Synesius 325 


part in a series of strange movements—the fall of Eutropius’ before 
the hatred of Gainas and Eudoxia, the revolt of Tribigild sustained 
if not suggested by his countryman Gainas, the subsequent attempt 
of Gainas on the capital, the exile of Aurelian brought about by 
Gainas and his restoration after the expulsion, defeat and death of 
the Goth, and perhaps the overture of the ruin of Chrysostom begun 
by Theophilus the bishop of Alexandria. Into all these events we 
need not go, but Synesius’ famous speech and his mysterious book 
on Providence in history call for our attention. 

The speech was delivered in 399 before the Emperor, when 
Aurelian was Praetorian Prefect. ‘Trribigild had already revolted 
in Phrygia or was on the point of doing so, while Gainas was still 
supposed to be acting against him for the Government. 

The speech itself is pronounced by Volkmann to rank with the 
best public speeches of the orators and rhetoricians of the period, 
and another critic, Krabinger, calls it his best work. But what 
most impresses the reader is not its ease or its grace, but its extra- 
ordinary courage. Synesius himself said of it some years later that 
he had harangued the Emperor with more boldness than any Greek 
had ever done before, and even if the speech was touched up in 
places by him before publication, it is clear that. if it at all represents 
what he said his boast is well founded®. 

Is there a hearing, he asks, for philosophy, for plain, honest 
speech without flattery? If there is, he will discuss kingship. 
Who is the true king? (The Greek word used for Emperor is 
βασιλεύς, and odd as it may seem is echoed in the rex and regius 
of Symmachus*. This of itself shews how times had changed.) 
The true king is he who lives for his people’s good, who realizes his 
responsibility as the representative, in some sort, of Divine pro- 
vidence, who grounds his character on piety and bids mind overthrow 
“the democracy of the passions” and be king within him, who will 


1 This and the revolt of Tribigild may also be read in Claudian’s two books 
against Eutropius, ‘‘a very elegant and spirited satire, which would be more 
valuable in an historical light if the invective were less vague and more tem- 
perate” says Gibbon. But at least some of the actors are named. 

* A number of points of contact with Claudian (iv. Cons. Hon.) and Julian 
(Or. ii. 86, etc.) may be noted in this speech. Perhaps something is owed by 
them all, directly or indirectly, to the Cyropaedeia, and by Synesius a little to 
Dio’s Orations on Kingship. Julian more than the others bids the Emperor 
live in close relations with the divine. ‘ 

3 Claudian goes further—nunc Brutus amaret vivere sub regno (Paneg. Manl. 
Theod. 163, Justice herself is speaking), and nunquam libertas gratior extat quam 
sub rege pio (Cons. Stil. iii. 114), the last a sentiment anyone may endorse who 
has lived on the borders of a great republic. 


326 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


be a man among men and count love the surest foundation for a 
kingdom. From the ideal he turns to the actual and finds it 
wanting. In many directions the Empire is threatened. 

The conceptions of kingship have been orientalized (c. 10)". 
“Nothing has done the Empire so much harm as the pomp and 
circumstance with which they surround the king as if with hierurgy 
and mystery.” “The fear, that you may become men if you are 
frequently seen, keeps you close prisoners, besieged by yourselves, 
neither seeing nor hearing anything that may develop practical 
sense, with no pleasures but those of the body and of those the 
most sensual, such as touch and taste give,—living in fact the life 
of a mollusc. So long as you disdain manhood, you can never 
reach the perfection of manhood.” The courtiers are “micro- 
cephalous,” and the stupider, the better courtiers. The Emperors 
“are all purple and all gold, coveréd with gems from barbarian 
mountain and sea, shod with them, girt with them, hung with them, 
brooched with them, couched on them’*.” They are made a spectacle 
of all hues and colours, like peacocks, and have brought on them- 
selves “the Homeric curse—a coat of stone.” The common earth 
must be sprinkled with gold dust for their tread. Like lizards which 
will only peep out now and then in the sunshine, “you keep to 
your chambers for fear men should find you out to be men.” ‘The 
contrast between the real and the ideal is at least vivid enough. 

The second great danger to the Empire is the enormous number 
of Goths in the army. They are untrustworthy and cannot be 
expected to be Roman in feeling. “Themis herself, the goddess of 
counsel, and the god of war I think must veil their faces, when the - 
man in skins leads the men in cloaks, and when one of them doffs 
the fleece, dons the toga and takes counsel with the Roman magis- 
trates about affairs, sitting conspicuously beside the consul perhaps, 
while the proper people sit below him. And when they are outside 
the council-chamber, it is not long before they are back into the 
sheepskins® and laughing at the toga among their clansmen, because, 

they say, it does not let you handle your sword easily” (c. 15). 
- Gothic soldiers and generals in the army, Gothic slaves in the 
houses—how long will it be before there is an uprising—another 
Spartacus? No, let none but Romans serve in the army, turn out 


1 So Lactantius, Δ]. P. 21. 

2 So Claudian, iv. Cons. Hon. 585 ff. asperat Indus velamenta lapis and so 
forth, but in admiration, 

3 Cf. Claudian on Alaric’s council, ὁ. Get. 481 crinigeri sedere patres, pellita 
Getarum curia. 


Synesius 327 


the Goths and make them helots. He alone can have peace who is 
strong enough to injure the man who would harm him’. 

Soldiers and money-lenders oppress the people. ‘T'axes wear 
them out, and who can help them but the king? The provincial 
governors are chosen—not for their merits but for their wealth. <A 
man raises money somehow, buys a governorship, and looks to repay 
himself. Hence the governor’s residence is a shop for the selling of 
justice (τὸ ἀρχεῖον δικῶν πωλητήριον c. 21)’. 

The remedy for everything lies with poor Arcadius. He must 
develop his soul with philosophy, his body with martial exercises. 
His troops must know him in person and not merely from his 
picture. He must remit taxation in response to embassies from his 
cities. He must get rid of flatterers and choose wise and experienced 
advisers (Aurelian and his friends no doubt), and with their aid rise 
to be an incarnate Providence. 

Synesius had recognized the bad symptoms—no difficult task— 
but the disease was deeper than he saw. The fault did not lie with 
Arcadius, who was the creature of his environment. The easy 
remedy of Synesius was therefore inadequate. Charming and fresh 
as his speech was, it was too old-fashioned. It shews the old Greek 
disdain for business and trade, and a thoroughly claustral ignorance 
of the strength of human passions and the terrible vitality which 
the parasites of a state always possess. Arcadius with a wave of 
the hand is to do with the political world what Julian tried to do 
with the religious—avra δ᾽ ἔναλλα γένοιτο. 

Events moved on, in spite of the speech. The prophecy about 
the Goths came true. Gainas joined hands with T'ribigild and came 
near being master of Constantinople, but his plans mysteriously 
miscarried. ‘The story of it all is told by Synesius in his book on 
Providence. 

This is a strange work. “It is a tale of ancient Egypt. But 


1 One may compare the last episode of Ammianus (xxxi. 16, 8)—the 
treacherous murder of all the Goths in Roman employ beyond the Taurus 
by orders of a commander who had early news of the disaster of Adrianople 
(378). ‘By this prudent plan being carried out without noise or delay, the 
eastern provinces were rescued from great dangers,” says the historian, with 
a coolness that astonishes some of his readers. See Seeck, Untergang der Ant. 
Welt, c. vi. *‘die Barbaren im Reich,” esp. p. 407 notes. Hist. Aug. Claud. 9, 4 
impletae barbaris servis Scythicisque cultoribus Romanae provinciae...nec ulla 
Suit regio quae Gothum servum triumphali quodam servitio non haberet—this 
a century before Synesius was born. 

2 Claudian in praising Stilicho is carried away and makes a strange revela- 
tion; nec te gurges corruptior aevi | traxit ad exemplum, qui jam jfirmaverat 
annis | crimen et in legem rapiendi verterat usum (Cons. Stil. ii. 116). 


828 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


the Egyptians are a subtle people. So perhaps, tale as it is, it may 
riddle something more than a tale, seeing it is Egyptian. But if it 
is not a tale, but a sacred discourse, it may be better worth reading 
and writing.” It is at once a philosophic romance, a demonstration 
of Providence, and an allegoric picture of the present. Taurus 
king of Egypt has two sons, the good Osiris and the bad Typhos. 
These represent Aurelian and his opponent, whom we only know 
from here and so cannot name, and the story tells in effect the 
events of 397-400 in Constantinople. Synesius himself appears in 
it as a certain person with a “rustic” breeding in philosophy, an 
admirer of Osiris and more ‘‘rustic” than ever when he fell, for he 
held by his fallen friend. The first book was written at the time of 
the events, and the second after the happy ending, and the whole, 
the narrative of the fall and restoration of a minister, is to prove 
the doctrine of Providence. 

There is a providence in the fall of a sparrow, but it seems 
strange to a modern reader that a matter of a minister is so 
important as this. Yet Claudian avows he felt doubtful of 
Providence till Rufinus’ fall re-established his faith. A similar joy 
shines in Symmachus’ pages on the death of Maximinus—“it is a 
pleasure to live, one does not regret having been born” (Hp. x. 2). 
All these discussions may be taken as indications of the deep im- 
portance which the question of the origin of evil had in the thought 
of the day. It is not, why has this bad minister been allowed such 
power? but why have the many, of whom he is but one, been 
tolerated by the Gods? and, in fine, why is there evil at all in the 
world? Synesius explains things much as Porphyry does (de Abstin. 
ii. 39, 40). Evil demons, says Porphyry, besides bringing plague 
and drought, work through men’s passions and produce wars and 
factions, till (worst of all) men really believe all this misery and 
confusion is due to the Best God—a mistake actually shared by 
some philosophers. As a matter of fact, Synesius explains, the 
great and good Gods endow man with a certain amount of power 
and set him to battle for himself, “a divine soul among demons,” 
and when his power is exhausted and a fresh start required by the 
confusion of the whole fabric, they will intervene in due time, but 
they must not be disturbed by man on petty pretexts. If men will 
but accept this view, they will not think that the visitation of God 
and the exercise of energy (ἀρετῆς) conflict. 

Gainas met a miserable end, and Aurelian returned and was 
made consul, so Providence justified itself. One wonders where the 


Synesius 329 


Emperor was throughout this story, for he is not mentioned. 
Volkmann sees in this the author’s prudence, Chassang (Histoire du 
Roman, p. 295) the Emperor’s insighificance, and to this latter view 
I incline. In any case the conspicuous absence of Arcadius is some- 
thing of a comment on the speech on kingship. There is no place 
for him whatever in a story of his reign. ‘There was hardly more 
in the events themselves. 

At last a happy decision was given to the case of Cyrene, and 
Synesius was able to leave Constantinople, where he had made 
many friends and found admirers for his prose and his verse. Their 
opinion of him may be inferred from the great speech, which was 
clearly the manifesto of the party. He with them had to face 
serious risks in the evil days, and so acute was his peril at one time 
that he found himself praying in the Christian churches, Neo- 
Platonist as he was’. However his dreams brought him warnings, 
which enabled him to come safely through all. From Constanti- 
nople he went to Alexandria and the story of his departure is 
characteristic. He writes to his friend Pylaemenes thus (Hp. 61): 

“Here is a big rug of Egyptian make, not the thing to be spread 
under a bed, but to be a bed all by itself. Asterius the steno- 
grapher’ saw it and asked it of me, when I had to sleep in front 
of the great offices. I promised I would leave it behind for him 
as a parting gift. For I could not give such presents while I still 
had to battle with the snow of Thrace. So I send it now, for I did 
not leave it then. Please give it to him with my apologies, which 
you can support with your own testimony, if you remember the 
time when I left. We were having earthquakes—many in the day, 
and the people were falling to prayer, many of them flat on their 
faces, for the ground was rocking. At that, I thought the sea safer 
than the land—the open sea. So I started at a run for the harbour, 
without a word to any one, except poor Photius—and to him I only 
gave a shout from afar and a wave of the hand to say ‘I’m off.’ 
And he said never a word to my friend Aurelian, consul as he was, 
though to the assistant’ Asterius he did make my apology. That 
was what befell then.” 

1 He tells us so in Hymn. 3, 448; he prayed “in the temples to the acting 
gods whom thou hast crowned with angelic rays.” Apyoripes θεοί, active or 
labouring gods, 1.6. agents of the supreme God, who, himself remote like an 
Emperor, entrusts activities to subordinates. Synesius is thought to mean the 
saints. In any case his action and his description are remarkable. 

3 The stenographers were made part of the civil service by Constantine, and 


grouped as we see from this letter (lower) in symmories. See Dict. Ant. s.v. 
notarius. 


3 Reading and translation are here alike doubtful. 


330 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


The letter concludes with directions for finding the stenographer, 
“a Syrian, with a dark complexion and a lean face, and of average 
height.” From Alexandria Syhesius returned home to Cyrene. 
His brother he left in Alexandria, where perhaps he had lived since 
first the two of them came to study. His voyage homeward was 
adventurous and he has left us a lively account of it in a letter 
(Ep. 4) written to his brother on the way. It is a long letter, but 
I will quote part of it, as it illustrates Synesius in some of his 
various minds and moods as The White Squall does Thackeray. 
It shews his vivacity and his habit of playful exaggeration, but 
also betrays the curious influence of the sophistic training of the 
day in some traces of artificial simplicity and in the scholastic 
interpretation of the line of Homer. How far superior he is to the 
school can be seen by anyone who will read a page of Achilles 
Tatius or a so-called letter of Aristaenetus. 

“We loosed from Bendideion in the early morning and barely 
by the afternoon passed Myrmex Pharios; and twice or perhaps 
_ three times the ship touched bottom in the harbour. That to begin 
with seemed a bad omen, and the wise thing would have been to 
leave a ship that was unlucky from the very start. But I was afraid 
that, if I deserted, you would all call me a coward. So 


‘not yet was it the hour for quaking or shrinking’ 


Consequently, if anything happens, you will have been the death 
of me. And yet what was there dreadful in your laughing, if 
I were only out of danger? As with Epimetheus in the story— 


‘Forethought he would none, so had afterthought’— 


so with me. I might have escaped then, but now encamped on a 
desert strand we sit lamenting, and turn our eyes as best we may 
to Alexandria and to our mother-land Cyrene—the one we had but 
we left it, the other we cannot reach, and we have seen and suffered 
what we should never have dreamed of. 

“For, listen, so that you may not think it all fun either, and 
hear first what sort of a crew we had. The captain wished to die, 
he was so deep in debt. Of the crew who were twelve in all—the 
steersman made thirteen—more than half, and the steersman too, 


1 Homer, Iliad vii. 217, but not quite the usual text—odrw ἔτ᾽ ἔσκεν for 
οὔπως ἔτι εἶχεν. People said Synesius had poor mss.—a charge he admitted, 
pleading that they exercise the brain more than correct ones, Mr Haleomb, in 
his admirable article on Synesius in the Dict. of Christian Biography, has 
anticipated me in this apology for Migne’s text of our author. 


Synesius 331 


were Jews, a desperate race, firmly convinced it is piety to bring 
about the deaths of as many Gentiles as possible. The rest— 
herdsmen, ploughmen, who a year ago had never touched an oar. 
And all of them, these as well as those, were crippled, every man 
of them in one limb at least. As long as we were in no danger, 
they joked, and called one another not by their names but by their 
infirmities—Limper, Truss, Left-hander, Squint-eye. Each of them 
had at least one distinction. All this gave us no slight amuse- 
ment, but in the hour of need there was no more laughter about it 
but wailing. We are more than fifty passengers—about a third of 
us women; most of them young and pretty. But don’t be jealous. 
A curtain walled us off, and this of the stoutest,—a fragment of a 
sail that tore a little while ago, to modest men a wall of Semiramis. 
And perhaps even Priapus would have been modest, if he had been 
sailing on Amarantus’ ship—to such an extent did he never give 
our fears of extreme peril a chance to rest. 

“As soon as we were past your temple of Poseidon, he hoisted 
all sail and made for T'aphosiris’ and tried for Scylla, which even 
in pictures we abhor%. When we saw this and cried out, though 
not before we were within a hair’s-breadth of danger, at last and then 
only under compulsion he reluctantly gave up the idea of a naval 
engagement with the shoals. So turning the ship about, as if 
repenting, he heads her for the open sea; and as long as he could 
he battled with the waves. Then the south wind springs up fresh, 
under which we soon lost sight of land, and by and by fell in with 
some merchantmen with two masts, who had no concern with our 
land of Libya but were on a different course. We protested and 
made a fuss about being so far from shore, but Amarantus in the 
role of a Titan stood on his deck and rolled out curses in the most 
tragic style. ‘We can’t fly,’ says he, ‘and what is a man to do with 
you people who are afraid of the land and afraid of the sea?’ ‘Not 
a bit of it, my dear Amarantus,’ said I, ‘if a man were reasonable 
with them. But we had nothing to do with Taphosiris—we only 
wanted to live—and now what do we want with the open sea? But 
let us sail straight for Pentapolis (said I) keeping a moderate 
distance out from land, so that if any accident—the chances of the 
sea, you know—I suppose it is always uncertain, as you sailors 

1 Not Taphosiris (Tomb of Osiris, Abusir) in Marmarica but a smaller one 
in Egypt, Volkmann says. It is about thirty miles S.W. from Alexandria. 
Strabo, c. 799, says the shore there is rocky. 


2 The reading, or the geography perhaps, is obscure. Failing to fathom 
Migne’s wonderful text, I have translated Petavius’ Latin rendering. 


332 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


say—there might be a haven near at hand to receive us. My 
words failed to convince him and the rascal was stone-deaf, until a 
strong north wind came upon us, rolling the waves up, high and 
rough ‘This fell on us quite suddenly, and took the sail on the 
other quarter, making concave what had been convex’. We came 
near being taken aback and it was with difficulty we came up to 
the wind. And the groanful Amarantus says, ‘There’s scientific 
sailing for you!’ for he had been expecting, he said, a wind from 
the sea for some time and that was why he was keeping out, and 
now he could make a tack as the distance from the shore gave him 
room. That would be our course now, but it could not have been 
if we had hugged the shore, for we should have been driven on to 
the land. Well, we accepted his story as long as it was day, and 
there was as yet no danger, for that only began with the night, and 
the waves kept mounting more and ntore. : 

“Tt was however the day which the Jews call the Preparation 
[Friday] and they reckon the night to the next day, on which they 
are not allowed to do any work, but they pay it especial honour and 
rest on it. So the steersman let go the helm from his hands, when 
he thought the sun would have set on the land, and threw himself 
down, and 


‘What mariner should choose might trample him®? 


We did not at first understand the real reason, but took it for 


despair, and went to him and besought him not to give up all hope ~ 


yet. For in plain fact the big rollers still kept on and the sea was 
at issue with itself. It does this when the wind falls and the waves 
it has set going do not fall with it, but, still retaining in full force 
the impulse that started them, meet the onset of the gale and to 
its front oppose their own. (I had to use fine words, not to give a 
mean description of mighty evils.) Well, when people are sailing 
under such circumstances, life hangs as they say by a slender thread. 
But if the steersman is a rabbi (νομοδιδάσκαλος) into the bargain, 
what will your feelings be ? 

“When then we understood what he meant in leaving the helm 
—for when we begged him to save the ship from danger, he went on 
reading his book—we despaired of persuasion and tried force. And 


1 This phrase is one of several so very strongly suggestive of the landsman 
as to give me confidence that if the translation contain blunders in navigation, 
as it well may, it will at least give a fair impression of Synesius’ seamanship. 

2 A memory of Sophocles, Ajax 1146. 


Synesius 333 


a gallant soldier (for we have with us a good few Arabians, who 
belong to the cavalry) drew his sword and threatened to cut his 
head off, if he would not steer the ship. But in a moment he was 
a genuine Maccabee, and would stick to his dogma. Yet when it 
was now midnight he took his place of his own accord, ‘for now,’ 
says he, ‘the law allows me, as we are clearly in danger of our 
lives.’ At that, the tumult begins again, moaning of men and 
screaming of women. Everybody began calling on heaven, and 
wailing and remembering their dear ones. Amarantus alone was 
cheerful, thinking he was on the point of ruling out his creditors. 
“For myself amidst the dangers, I swear to you by the God 
philosophy counts supreme, that line of Homer kept troubling me, 
for fear it were true after all that death by drowning involved the 
destruction of the soul too. For he says somewhere in the poems’ 


‘Ajax drank of the salt sea wave and utterly perished,’ 


meaning that death in the sea is absolute destruction. For he says 
of no one else that he ‘utterly perished,’ but, as each dies 


‘so went he to Hades,’ 


Moreover in neither Nekyia is the lesser Ajax brought on the scene, 
as if his soul were not in Hades. Achilles too, bravest of men and 
most daring, plays the coward about death by water, which he calls 
‘baleful.’ 

“As I kept turning these thoughts over in my mind, I saw the 
soldiers all with their swords drawn, and on inquiry I was told by 
them it was better to breathe out one’s soul in the air on deck, than 
into the waters gasping. So I counted them of the school of Homer 
by instinct, and I inclined to the dogma. 

“Then someone bids all who had any gold hang it to their 
necks, and those did so who had any gold or its equivalent. The 
women did it for themselves and gave threads to any who needed 
them. This is an ancient practice and here is the reason of it. 
The dead washed up from a wreck must bring the price of his 
burial. For the man who lights on him and gets gain by him will 
be afraid of the laws of Nemesis, if he does not give a little back to 
him who has given him many times more. That was what they 
were doing. But I sat by and wept to think of the accursed purse, 


1 Odyssey iv. 511, but not exactly, for the editions at least read ἔνθ᾽ ἀπόλωλε 
for the ἐξαπόλωλε Synesius had in his mind. Some bracket the line because 
(says Merry) ‘‘they fail to see the grim humour of it.” Achilles in 1]. xxi. 281. 


384 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


the loan of my friend’. The God of strangers knows my fear was 
not of death but about the money, in case the Thracian should lose 
by me, for even in death I would be ashamed of that. In that case 
to ‘perish utterly’ and lose consciousness would be a gain. 

“What made the danger so urgent was nothing but that the 
ship was under full sail. To reduce it was impossible. We tried 
the ropes again and again, but gave it up, as they were tight in the 
rings ; and the fear came on us (and it was not a lesser fear) that 
if we escaped the waves we might in such a plight run ashore in the 
dark. 

“Day came and we saw the sun, I don’t know if ever with more 
pleasure. The wind began to fall as the day grew warmer, and the 
dew rose and let us use the ropes and manage the sail. We could 
not shift it and put up the ‘bastard’—it had been pawned—but we 
took in some of it, like girding up a tunic. And before four hours 
were over we, who had expected to die, disembarked on an utterly 
desolate shore without town or farm near by, and about a hundred 
and thirty stades down from a farm. The ship was tossing in the 
open, for the spot was not a harbour, and she was tossing on one 
anchor. The second had been sold, and Amarantus never had a 
third. 

“As for us, as soon as we reached the land we longed for, we 
embraced it as if it had been a living mother. Offering as usual a 
hymn of gratitude to God, I added to it the recent misadventure 
from which we had unexpectedly been saved.” 

This was not the end of the adventures of the voyage, but for 
our purposes so much may suffice and we may turn to his pictures 
of country life in the Cyrenaica. Let us take as our starting-point 
Letter 148—“‘a gossiping letter” as he calls it. It will not be 
necessary to render it in full. 

He is not a near neighbour of the sea, he says, for he lives up 
country toward the south wind, the last of all the Cyrenians, in a place 
where oars are as strange as to the people in the Odyssey who took 
the oar for a winnowing fan. His neighbours had no salt but “the 
salts of Ammon,” and were very sceptical about lands over the sea 
and the sea itself. As to fish—how could salt water produce any- 
thing edible, when their fresh streams had nothing better than frogs 
and leeches? It is a plain country life they live, the sounds they 


1 Ep. 129 explains this. Proclus had lent him 60 gold pieces, which he 
entered as 70 and for which Synesius was to repay him 80. He paid it on his 
return to Cyrene, in spite of difficulties of communication. 


ee ee 


aa a a ὙΡ 


Synesius 335 


hear are all of the farm, and if the products of their lands are not 
severally the best of their kinds, yet collectively few countries can 
rival them; they supply all their own wants with a little over for 
the tax-gatherer. Their songs are simple strains of the country- 
side—“‘the praise of a good ram perhaps; or a stump-tailed dog 
gets a eulogy because he is not afraid of hyaenas and takes the 
wolves by the throat. And not least, the huntsman is made into a 
song, for he makes peace for the pastures and gives us good cheer 
by bringing all kind of game...but nothing so often as certain 
prayers, still in song, petitions for blessmg on man and crop and 
beast.” ‘The Emperor and the court and the dance of fortune are 
mere names, kindled like flames and quenched; here our ears get a 
rest from such talk. That there is an Emperor always in existence, 
I suppose they know quite well, but we are only reminded of him 
once a year by the tax-gatherers. But who he is, is not so clear. 
Some of us think Agamemnon is still king, the son of Atreus that 
went against Troy, the brave and good’. For that is the king’s 
name we hear about from childhood. And there is a friend of his, 
Odysseus, the good herdsmen talk of—a bald man but a rare hand 
for doing things and finding a way in a scrape. Don’t they laugh, 
as they tell of him, thinking it only a year or so since the Cyclops 
was blinded; and how the old boy was dragged along under the 
ram, and how the villain sat by the door and thought the leader of 
the flock was in the rear, not because he was feeling the weight, 
but because he was feeling for his master’s bad luck. My 
letter, you see, has let you be with us a little while in spirit. 
You have seen the country, and the simplicity of our ways. 
Life in Noah’s age, you will call it, before law and order ended in 
slavery.” 

Praise of country life and the joys and beauties of the field are 
common themes of the later sophists, and wearisome and frosty 
many of their eulogies and descriptions are. Except perhaps in 
Daphnis and Chloe, even if there, it would be hard to find anything 
as natural as Synesius’ work, though his education is to be plainly 
read in this as in everything he wrote’. 


1 Compare Dio Chrysostom’s Borystheniticus 9 and 14, on the popularity of 
Homer among the Greek settlers on the Borysthenes (Dnieper)—their only poet. 
He writes about 100 a.p. 

2 Dio Chrysostom’s oration Euboicus, with its highly ideal picture of the 
**settled low content” of the hunters in the desert country, may have given 
Synesius a suggestion, but his description is independent and no doubt represents 
a real life, though it omits the barbarians and the locusts and other drawbacks. 


336 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


He says in the letter just quoted, “We have leisure to philo- 
sophize, but none to do wrong,” and elsewhere (Zp. 57, 1888 c) 
speaking of these days he says, “1 lived with good hopes, regarding 
the universe in which I was as a sacred precinct, and myself like a 
sacred animal free and unshackled in it, and I divided my life 
between prayer and book and chase; for that soul and body may be 
healthy, we need at once to work and pray to God.” His brother 
came to live at the little port of Phycus, and we have letters that 
tell of their happy relations, of visits to each other and sometimes 
of business. 

“So you are surprised,” he writes (Hp. 114), “when you live in 

dirty Phycus, that you have shivering fits and have got your blood 
into a bad state? On the contrary you should be surprised if your 
system can endure the heat there. But if you come up to us, you 
may with God’s blessing get better, once you are quit of the air 
corrupted by the marshy exhalations, quit of the water, brackish, 
warm and, generally, stagnant—which is to say, dead. What is 
there fine in lying on the sand of the beach—the only amusement 
you have? for where can you go? But up here! what a thing it is 
to come under the shadow of a tree! and if you aren’t comfortable 
to change that tree for another—one grove for another. What a 
thing it is to cross the rivulet by the roadside! How pleasant the 
_zephyr is, gently playing with the branches! and the various songs 
of the birds, and the colours of the flowers, and the bushes of the 
meadow—some the works of the farmer, some the gifts of nature, 
all fragrant, the output of a healthy earth. The cave of the 
Nymphs I won’t praise, for it wants a Theocritus. And there’s more 
too.” 

We hear a good deal about, horses. His brother is raising a 
pair “for tribute” (Zp. 132). Now a soldier steals one of Synesius’ 
own, “‘because, he says, a soldier should have a horse. He offers an 
absurdly small sum, and won’t give it back when I refuse to sell” 
(Ep. 6). Now he sends one to a friend (Zp. 40)—“‘a horse excellent 
for every equine virtue; you can use him in racing, when you go 
hunting, in a cavalry battle or a procession, for I don’t know which 
to call him—a hunter, a racehorse, a horse for parade, or a war- 
horse. And if he isn’t as pretty as the Nisaean horses—being 
lumpish in the head and lean in the flank—perhaps not even to 
horses, any more than to men, does God give everything at once... 
Horses with you run to flesh, but ours to bone.” And now we find 
him, like a good Cyrenian, importing an Italian stallion, who, it is 


Ee ΛΟ ΙΚΦΕΝ 


Synesius 337 


promised, will “leave good foals behind him,” but who is left at 
Seleucia “as the captain on account of the weather did not want 
such freight” (Hp. 133). He also speaks of breeding dogs for the 
chase (Calv. Ene. c. 4). 

Now and again he went abroad. It seems he paid several visits 
to Alexandria, on one of which (?403) he married a Christian lady 
to whose influence some have attributed a share in his conversion. 
We do not hear much of her. Possibly Synesius held the view he 
attributes to the virtuous Osiris in the book on Providence. ‘That 
Osiris had women’s apartments in his house, his child was the only 
reminder, and he too was rarely seen. For Osiris thought it was 


the one virtue of a woman that neither her person nor her name 


should pass the curtain” (de Prov. i. 13). He has a severe letter 
on the airs and graces of a lady married into his family, who was 
annoyed at someone dying at the time of her marriage She 
appeared at the funeral—an unusual thing for brides to do—but, to 
avoid an unlucky omen for her husband, she came in red, wearing a 
transparent veil, and gold and jewels in abundance (Zp. 3). On 
the other hand, he had an intense admiration for Hypatia, who 
transgressed his Periclean canon to good purpose. 

Once he visited Athens. We have two letters, one written 
beforehand, the other from the place. He gives his reason for going 
(Ep. 54). “I shall gain not only this advantage from my journey 
to Athens—to be rid of the present troubles—but also I shall no 
longer have to adore those who come thence for their learning. 
They don’t differ from us mortals—at least not as regards under- 
standing Aristotle and Plato—but move amongst us, like demi-gods 
among demi-donkeys, because they have seen the Academy and the 
Lyceum etc.” Then he writes to his brother again after seeing the 
sights (Zp. 136): 

“T hope I may profit as much from Athens as you wish. Indeed 
I seem more than a hand and a finger wiser already, and I can give 
you a proof of my divine wisdom on the spot. I am actually 
writing to you from Anagyrus, and I have been at Sphettos, Thria, 
Cephisia and Phalerum. But ill befall the ill man who brought me 
here, the captain. For the Athens of to-day has nothing splendid 
to shew but the famous names of the places. And just as when a 
sacrifice has been offered the skin is left to shew what the animal 
once was; so, since philosophy has gone away from here, it is only 
left one to go round and admire the Academy and the Lyceum, yes! 
and the Painted Stoa, which gave its name to Chrysippus’ philosophy 

G. 22 


338 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


but is not painted (ποικίλη) any longer, for the proconsul has taken 
away the pictures in which Polygnotus of Thasos displayed his art’. 
But in our day it is Egypt that nourishes the seeds of wisdom, which 
it receives from Hypatia. As for Athens, the city was once the 
home of the wise, but nowadays it is the bee-keepers who make her 
famous. You can add the pair of Plutarchian sages, who gather the 
young men in the theatres, not by the fame of their discourses but 
with honeycombs from Hymettus.” 

Too much attention may be paid to this criticism of Athens and 
too little. ‘There had been seven hundred years of rivalry between 
Athens and Alexandria, and Synesius belonged to the latter uni- 
versity, and had, as we have seen, a habit of taking humorous views. 
of things. On the other hand, Dean Merivale describes Athens as 
already in Hadrian’s time ‘‘a dirty city in decay” in spite of its 
monuments. Curtius and Rohde however do not think the case was 
as bad as Synesius says, though the city was going down®. ‘The 
story about the proconsul should be noticed. Alaric had been 
ravaging Greece in 395 but he seems to have spared Athens, and 
now as often before (for Wachsmuth thinks the robbery was recent) 
it was the Roman official whom she had to dread. At any rate 
intellectually, in spite of Proclus, Athens’ day was done and she had 
no longer anything to give to mankind. 

The fruits of Synesius’ “leisure to philosophize” are to be found 
in his three books the Dio, Concerning Dreams and The Praise of 
Baldness. They cannot be taken as a very serious contribution to 
thought. “A man of many and wandering thoughts” he was not 
really serious enough to do any very profound thinking. To under- 
stand this at once, it is only necessary to compare him with 
Augustine, who will be satisfied with nothing short of reality and 
certainty*. Manichaean science he tests and finds untrue to actual 
fact. Neo-Platonist theology fascinates him, but cannot hold him, 
because it fails in motive power, because it fails to meet the need 
of common people, and because when all is done it fails to bring 
God within reach. Synesius is different. Like Julian he is essen- 
tially a disciple, and he accepts without afterthought the “dogmata” 

1 Julian, ad Themist. 259 8, implies that the gardens of Epicurus, the myrtles 
and the little house of Socrates were among the ‘‘show-places” of Athens. 

2 Merivale, Romans under Empire, c. 66. See Curtius, Stadtgesch. der Athen, 
6. 8, and Wachsmuth, Die Stadt Athen im Alterthum, p. 717, who discounts 
iw inclusion of Athens among the places ravaged by Alaric (in Rujin. 


3 Compare Augustine, Conf. iii. 6,10 O veritas, veritas, quam intime etiam 
tum medullae animi mei suspirabant tibi; and y. 3, 3—6 on Manichaean science. 


Synesius 339 


of the school which gave him his first quickening. ‘True, he left 
Neo-Platonism for Christianity, but his Christianity where it is at 
all thought out is a superstructure on a Neo-Platonic base, though 
in reality it is perhaps more a matter of feeling than of thought. 
As a Christian he inquires as little as he did when a Neo-Platonist. 
Whether his tenets correspond with reality is not his most vital 
concern, as it was Augustine’s, but whether they satisfy the 
immediate spiritual craving of his own heart. He is content with 
an easy solution if he can be rid of the question. There is nothing 
approaching dishonesty about him, it is merely an unspeculative 
habit of mind. Yet “the heart,” Pascal says, ‘‘has its reasons as 
well as the head,” and Synesius’ instincts and strong human 
affections generally lead him to some sound working principle, even 
though he does not realize in all its relations the truth under- 
lying it. 

The most important of the three books of this period is the 


Dio. In a letter to Hypatia (Zp. 154), accompanying it and the 


book on Dreams, he explains how he came to write it. He has been 
criticized from two quarters, by the men in white, and the men in 
black. ‘The former were ‘‘ philosophers,” sophists and rhetoricians ; 
the latter, monks and clergy’, were the more serious. 

The philosophers, in effect, accused him of trifling, ‘‘of sinning 
against philosophy, heeding charm and rhythm in diction, pretending 
to opinions on Homer.” ‘They attained to a view of the intelligible 
world, but he might not, because he gave some of his leisure to 
rhetoric and was only fit for amusement.” A lost poem or two of 
his had got abroad, he says, and were “eagerly received by some 
young men, who cared for Hellenism and grace.” So he holds 


up Dio as an example of a rhetorician who turned philosopher 


—a Stoic, not speculative but mainly practical—and yet retained 
his charm of classic style. And indeed a partially educated man is 
not educated, for the Muses all go together (Μούσας = ὁμοῦ οὔσας by 
etymology), and the philosopher, worthy of the name, must fail in 
no learning of the Graces nor lack knowledge of any notable litera- 
ture, but must be a genuine “Hellen” able to associate with any 
one. Knowledge of one thing makes a craftsman or a specialist, 
but a philosopher is made by a harmony of all knowledge. These 
stiff gentlemen, who despise rhetoric and poetry, are so, he expects, 


1 See the amusing account given by Socrates (vi. 22) of the Novatian bishop 
Sisinnius, who preferred to wear white, and the scriptural reasons he playfully 
gave for it (e.g. Eccles. ix. 8). 


22—2 


840 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


not of their own choice but by poverty of nature. Beauty of words 
is not an idle thing, it is a pure pleasure that looks away from 
matter to real existence. If you reject this pleasure, what will you 
take instead? for you must have some pleasure. A man may be 
well-equipped in speech and master of philosophy at the same time. 
But what do the grammarians do, these critics of syllables, the 
teachers? They are sterile. here is a child-birth of letters as of 
beings, and the man who gives forth habitually what is immature 
falls into a habit of miscarriage and never produces anything that is 
perfect, anything that can live. Your ready speaker has always a 
“cheap finish'.” Synesius therefore feels justified in living his own 
life quietly among his books, developing his style and his mind 
together, as against the raw philosopher, and content to be called a 
trifler by the busy and didactic grammarian. 

But he is more irritated by the gentlemen in black. Ignorance, 
he writes to Hypatia, gives them courage, and they are everlastingly 
ready to debate about God. Give them a chance and you are 
deluged. It pays them, for from their ranks come the city preachers, 
and to be that is to hold Amaltheia’s horn (cornu copiae). “They 
want me to be their disciple and promise to make me in a twinkling 
a ready talker on the things of God, and able to harangue days and 
nights together.” No doubt they did, for, as he says elsewhere 
(Ep. 57, 1389 8), “a philosopher’s ordination attracts attention.” 
Synesius’ wife was a Christian, and he was doubtless kindly disposed 
to Christians as he was to everybody, though not inclined to be 
converted in a hurry. Neo-Platonism, we may perhaps say, had 
two wings, the Left composed of adherents who leant to theurgy, 
magic and enchantments, and were like Julian more or less bitterly 
opposed to Christians, and the Right consisting of the animae 
candidiores, who counted it “bad manners to hustle God (ὠθισμός)»» 
by magic, piety to wait on him and the ideal life one of natural 
and willing communion with him*. These men, and Synesius with 

1 This phrase of Stevenson’s (‘‘Journalism,” he said, ‘‘is the school of cheap 
finish”) answers to ἀδύνατος σκέμμα παραλαβὼν ὥσπερ ἀνδρίαντα ξέσας és τὸ ἀκριβὲς 
ἀπεργάζεσθαι. 

2 Cf, Augustine’s indignation, while he was yet a Manichaean, at an enchanter’s 
overtures: recolo...me autem foeda illa sacramenta detestatum et abominatum 
respondisse, Conf. iv. 1, 3. The proposal had been to secure by sacrifice of 
some animals the aid of daemonia, and Augustine declared he would not sacrifice 
a fly for an eternal crown of gold. The poem Lithica of the so-called Orpheus, 
really a work of about the fourth century 4.D. as its references to the unpopularity 
of religion and magic shew, deals with the qualities special stones possess of 
‘‘compelling” the gods. See also de Civ. Dei x. 9 and 10, for Augustine’s 


general criticism of Porphyry and the art quam vel magiam, vel detestabiliore 
nomine goetiam, vel honorabiliore theurgiam vocant, 


Synesius 341 


them, would not wish to “hustle” others who differed from them, 
though they might pity and despise them. 

The monks, then, according to Synesius, were on wrong lines. 
Disregarding pretenders among them, he says the rest do not realize 
man’s nature. God can do without pleasure, the beasts have bodily 
pleasures. Man standing between cannot do without pleasure but 
need not choose the pleasures of matter. The monks try to be 
more than human; and “now they are in God and now in the 
world and the body,” and from contemplation they have to seek 
relaxation in basket-making, while the Greek developes his mind 
and his perception im his very amusements—rhetoric and poetry. 
They aim, no doubt, at the same thing as the philosopher, the sight 
of God, but, though it may be granted that some few of them reach 
it by happy endowment, they do not travel thither by road but their 
progress is more like a Bacchic frenzy, a long jump taken in madness 
and excitement’. Nor do they understand very often what they 
are doing. They must be chaste, but why? They abstain from 
marriage as if such abstinence were an end in itself. The prepara- 
tion they count the goal. But to the philosopher the virtues are 
stages toward philosophy, they are to it as the letters are to a book. 
They are not everything, but after all merely mean the removal of 
obstacles to attaining the real end. The monk receives a command 
to be virtuous, and he obeys, but it is external to him. He does 
not know why he should be so. His virtue is therefore unintelligent 
and in consequence unmeaning, and perhaps not even virtue at all 
in the highest sense. In other words, Synesius finds monastic virtue 
mechanical and uninspired, and Neander says he is right and finds 
his judgment remarkable for moderation and truth®. 

Synesius was in earnest about communion with God, but some 
of his ways of attaining it seem to us as strange as those of the 
monks. In his book On Dreams he pleads for intercourse with God 
in sleep. Chaste living and moderation in all things are the means 
to obtain good dreams of God, who will often communicate in this 
way warnings against threatening danger, guidance and so forth. 
This doctrine was one of the Neo-Platonists’, of whose teaching at 
large the book is full. Julian communed so with heaven. Porphyry 
says good demons bring messages to the virtuous in their dreams. Ὁ 


1 Curiously the author of de vita contemplativa c. 2 uses much the same ex- 
pression of his Therapeutae; ‘‘seized by heavenly love καθάπερ οἱ βακχευόμενοι 
καὶ κορυβαντιῶντες ἐνθουσιάζουσι.᾽" 

5 Church History, vol. iii. p. 860, Bohn. 


342 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Macrobius classifies dreams from oracles down to nightmares and 


Prudentius discusses the question in his poem for sleep-time. Even 
Ammianus pleads that divination by dreams is not more necessarily 
futile because it blunders than medicine. Augustine believed in his 
mother’s dreams, and says she told him “she could distinguish by 


some strange savour, which she could not explain in words, between - 


a revelation from God and an idle dream of her own mind.” 
Synesius’ own work was written at a divine command, which came 
in a dream, and the whole of it in a single night or rather in the 
remainder of that night on which he had the dream. “Whenever 
I take it up, I have a strange feeling, and a divine voice, as poetry 
says, is shed about me.” Hypatia was to be the first reader. 

The Praise of Baldness is frankly a humorous work, written 
after the other two. ‘“Adoxography” was a recognized branch of 
sophistic composition’. Unpromising, ugly or inglorious subjects 
were chosen and the rhetorician did his best for them. It was 
“making the worse appear the better reason.” One of the most 
accessible examples of the kind is Lucian’s Praise of a Fly, which 
adequately exhibits its possibilities of neatness and triviality. 
Synesius wrote his piece in imitation of Dio’s Praise of Hair, part 
or all of which he quotes. The work is not elsewhere preserved. 

Synesius professes that he is growing bald, but reflects that hair 
is the mark of the beast, while man is in the main bald, though 
partially hairy to remind him of his midway position in the universe. 
But with dogs, for example, the more hair, the less sense. So the 
balder a man is, the wiser and the more divine we may take him to 
be. Hair like the adornment of growing corn withers when the 
fruit, here the brain, is ripe. Of all shapes the sphere is most 


perfect—and that is the shape of the bald head. The soul naturally. 


aims at the imitation of God and yearns to inhabit a sphere, but 
whether this be a star or a bald head is immaterial. Our head is 
our most heavenward part, and its baldness is heaven for us. 
Though the vulgar admire hair, as they do ‘everything external, 


1 Erwin Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, p. 308. The author of the Clemen- 
tine homilies sets an imaginary opponent of Christianity to compose a μοιχείας 
ἐγκώμιον (Clem. Hom. v. 10—19) with abundant illustration from mythology— 
a by no means extravagant performance for a rhetorician, which most adroitly 
exhibits the bad side of Olympus. Gellius, N. A. xvii. 12, speaks of these 
themes and their uses, to rouse the wit, to practise cleverness, to overcome 
difficulties, and says that they were favourite exercises of philosophers as well 
as sophists, e.g. his teacher Favorinus praised Thersites and quartan fever. 
There is another Praise of Hair in Philostratus (Ep. 16). Claudian’s poems on 
the electric eel (or fish) of the Nile, the porcupine and the magnet may com 
under this class. 


~ 


Synesius 343 


the spheric is the blessed form. (So says Macrobius more gravely, 
Comm. i. 14. 8, 9.) Just as the moon waxes to the full, so does 
baldness, till it exhibits the head “‘shining back with full-orbed circle 
to the lights of heaven.” Hair and the vices flourish and pass 
together. Even Achilles was bald in front—or at least Athene took 
him by the hair from behind. The best of men, priests and philo- 
sophers, are all painted as bald. ‘This work is for philosophers and, 
if it be published, he hopes the ‘‘lovers of hair” (φιλόκομοι) will be 
ashamed and adopt the reasonable and honourable practice of 
shaving, but always pay special honour to those who do not need 
the barber. The fooling is exquisite but perhaps a little long. It 
should be noted that the ideas he parodies are Neo-Platonic. 

* But to this idyllic country life that only wanted a Theocritus 
there was another side. Cyrene was for the civilized world 
practically an island, but in reality it was unhappily not so. The 
barbarian tribes of the interior, Macetae and Ausurians, were in 
the habit of raiding the land, and in general little effective opposi- 
tion was offered to them. ‘There were troops to meet them, if only 
the governors and officials could be trusted, but they could not. 
They were as a rule not there because they were fit for their work. 
The barbarians, like the Iroquois in Canada, came and went as they 
would with suddenness and swiftness. Accordingly one responsible 
official sells the soldiers’ horses and pockets the money, and nothing 
can be done with infantry. Another scatters the troops about in such 
a way that they are useless. Now and again a capable man is sent 
and the savages are taught a lesson. He is recalled and they return 
—actually to besiege fortresses and towns. Yet bad as this was, 
there was a worse symptom. ‘he Cyrenians would do nothing for 
themselves, and when Synesius tried to rouse them and raise a 
troop of farm people, his brother wrote to warn him that such 
activity was dangerous in a private person. For centuries the 
Roman government had discouraged energy and initiative among 
the provincials, and they had acquired the habit of having everything 
done for them. Public spirit had been suspected and killed, and 
now an enemy, whose weakness was seen whenever any determined 
action was taken against him, plundered and burnt, drove off cattle 
and horses and camels and carried away children to bring them up 
to ravage as men the lands they played on in childhood—another 
Iroquois trait—all this for want of public spirit. The army itself 
was composed of foreigners—Synesius speaks of corps of Marco- 
manni, Arabians, Unnigardae—and the native-born Romans were 


344 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


kept in civil life to be taxed. He had not gone an inch beyond 
what he had warrant for, when in his speech on Kingship he had 
pled for citizen soldiers. And now neither the citizens nor the 
soldiers nor the officials were of any use. ‘The enemy are burning, 
slaying and kidnapping,” he writes, “and not one of us is troubled ; 
we sit and wait for the useless help of the soldiers. Shall we never 
stop talking nonsense? never come to our senses and gather the 
farmers and labourers and march out together against the enemy, 
for our children, for our wives, for our land—yes! and if you like 
for the soldiers too?” (Hp. 125). 

A letter of Synesius to Hypatia, written apparently a short time 
after his return home from Constantinople, illustrates the situation 
and his own temper. 


“““Yea though in Hades’ realm the dead by the dead are forgotten, 
Yet even there will I!’ 


remember my dear Hypatia. As for me, on all hands I am sur- 
rounded by the sufferings of my native land, and my heart is sad 
for her. For every day I see the foemen’s arms and the butchery 
of men like beasts for sacrifice, and I breathe air tainted with 
corrupting corpses, and I look to suffer the like myself. For who 
could be of good hope surrounded by all that is humiliating and 
overshadowed by carnivorous birds?? Yet for all that I love my 
land. What should I else, who am a Libyan and was born here and 
still see the tombs of my ancestors held in honour? For you alone 
I think I can forget my land and return if I have the leisure” 
(Ep. 124). 

This last was a mere compliment, Volkmann says, but it is not 
impossible that it is only a promise of a visit and not of a per- 
manent change of abode. Visits, as we have seen, he did make to 
Alexandria, but he loved his Jand too well to quit it for ever. 
Letter 130 shews further stages of trouble. 

“To Simplicius. Your greeting me through Cerealis gave him 
five days’ grace; for so long we did not find him out for the knave 
he is. For the cities hoped for something good from a man whom 
Simplicius did not disdain to know. But he very quickly brought 


shame—not on you (for Heaven grant your reputation may never 


1 Tliad xxii. 389. 

2 See Lord Roberts, Forty-one years in India, 6. 15, for ‘the innumerable 
birds of prey which instinct had brought to Delhi from the remotest parts of 
India’ in 1857." 


ee a a 


Synesius 345 


depend on another) but on himself and his office, and, not to hesitate, 
on the Roman empire—a man to be bought for a trifle, careless of 
his fame, unwarlike and in peace oppressive—though he had not a 
long enjoyment of peace. For as if there were a law that what is 
the soldiers’ is the general’s, he took from everyone what they had 
and in exchange released them from service and discipline and let 
them go where they might think they could pick up a living. This 
he did to the native troops, but as he could not get money out of 
the mercenaries he did out of their towns, marching and moving 
about, not where it was most profitable but where it was most 
lucrative. ‘The towns found their presence a burden and paid down 
their gold. The Macetae soon saw this, and from the _half- 
barbarians to the barbarians the report spread. 


‘Thick as the leaves they came and thick as the flowers of spring-time.’ 


“Alas! for the youth that are lost to us! for the harvests we 
hoped for in vain! We sowed for the enemy’s fire. Most of us had 
our wealth in beasts, in brood camels and horses out at grass. All 
is gone, all driven off. I know it too well, as I am beside myself 
with annoyance. But forgive me. For I am behind walls, and 
I write under siege, seeing beacons often in the hour, lighting them 
myself and passing on signals to others. The long hunting expedi- 
tions I once enjoyed securely and most of all for your sake—they 
are all past. And [ groan 


‘as I bethink me 
Of that past youth, that temper and that mind.’ 


“But now everything swarms with horsemen and the enemy hold 
the country. And I at my station between two towers am battling 
with sleep. 

‘Under my spear I munch my barley-cake, 


Under my spear a soldier’s thirst I slake, 
Drain the Ismaric, leaning on my spear.’ 


I don’t know if Archilochus had any better right to say this. Evil 
befall the evil Cerealis, if he has not anticipated my curse, for he 
deserved to perish in the recent storm. For when he saw in what 
plight the country was, he lost confidence at once in land, and put 
his gold on some merchant schooners, and is tossing on the sea. A 
skiff brings us his despatches, which bid us do what we are doing— 
keep within the walls, not advance outside the trenches, not come 
to close quarters with these invincible men, or else, he protests, he 


346 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


washes his hands of us. He tells us to set four watches through 
the night, as if our hopes lay in not sleeping. For he seems skilled 
in such things, like a man born to disaster. Yet he did not want 
even a share in our misfortunes. For not by a battlement like me, 
Synesius the philosopher’, but by an oar our general takes his 
stand, 

“Tf you really like the poems for which you asked—though I am 
not aware of anything good about them except their subject—pray 
with the Cyrenians that they may have a little respite from arms. 
For as we are now, there is not leisure to take ἐπᾷ books from the 
boxes.” 

There are other letters in like strain, which, with those describing 
the country and its people, give us a bright and living picture of 
the life of the province. The books and hymns reveal in some 
measure what was passing in Synesius’ mind. The earlier hymns 
are frankly Neo-Platonic, but a change appears, for the fifth begins: 


“The offspring of the Virgin, 
The Virgin never wedded 
In human wedlock, sing we.” 


‘The remaining five are all more or less Christian. The eighth may 
be dated 405 or 406, and we may ask whether it is later or earlier 
than the three preceding. In any case, perhaps as much as three 
years before the bishopric is mentioned, Synesius was hymning the 
Virgin-born. This was an advance on Neo-Platonism. How had 
he reached this point ? 

He does not tell us what made him a Christian, his apologia 
about the bishopric turning on the reasons which led him to sur- 
render the quiet life he loved for one of office and worry and 
business. Only a few hints occur from which we may gather some 
of his motives. In such matters it is always hard to be explicit. 
The reasons which a man will give for holding the deepest religious 
truths must generally seem more or less inadequate, because they 
can never be completely stated. Such truths are held by a man, or 
rather perhaps he would say, hold him, because they are to him a 
spiritual necessity, which he feels as the result of experience, and no 
one who has not had this or a similar experience can understand 
why he should so feel. 


1 Is he thinking of Dio, bidden by the Borysthenites to take arms and fight 
like Achilles against the barbarian raiders? (Dio, Borysth. 28). 


Synesius 347 


Synesius under the stress of great danger had prayed in the 
churches of Constantinople, and this of itself shews a certain friend- 
liness to Christianity. Julian, for example, would not have done so; 
his visits to church were only dictated by policy. Synesius again 
had a Christian wife, who had been given to him by bishop 
Theophilus of Alexandria—a man who has not a good name in 
history’. However, Chrysostom had been in Constantinople ‘when 
Synesius was there, and must have impressed him, as we find him 
speaking warmly of Chrysostom to Theophilus, the man who had 
hounded him to his death. We also see that the clergy and the monks 
tried to capture him, and while in the Dio he accuses them of being 
on wrong lines he admits that their aim is the right one. His own 
Neo-Platonic Trinity bears a close likeness to the Christian one. 
There were thus many things leading him to the Church. The 
difficulty was probably the Incarnation, the belief that God’ could 
stoop to contact with the material world. 

To a belief in this he was helped, if my deductions are right, 
mainly by two things—a deepening sense of his own difficulty in 
keeping ‘“‘clean from matter,” and a growing feeling for the needs 
and sorrows of common people. Neo-Platonism was not clear as to 
how far a man, striving to be pure and godlike, received divine 
assistance. Did God leave man to work out his own salvation by 
himself, as Macrobius implies, or lend aid at every turn as Julian 
hopes (though Julian rested for this on magic), or intervene occasion- 
ally at great crises, as Synesias’ book on Providence teaches? ‘The 
Christian account was much more explicit, even before Augustine 
developed the doctrine of grace. Synesius later on says incidentally 
that he cannot himself mingle with the material world and remain 
pure. “And if it had been possible even for an angel to become a 
man and for more than thirty years suffer nothing from contact 
with matter, why need the Son of God have descended?” (Hp. 57, 
1396). Elsewhere he laments, “I have no strength; what is 
within is not pure, and I cannot avail for what is without; and 
I am far from being able to bear the pain of conscience” (Hp. 104, 
1484¢). His case had been with differences like Augustine’s, who 
says of his Neo-Platonist days:—“I thought continence a matter 


1 One example of outside opinion of Theophilus may suffice. In Sulpicius’ 
Dialogue (i. 7) Postumian says of him me quidem episcopus illius civitatis benigne 
admodum et melius quam opinabar excepit et secum tenere temptavit, sed non fuit 
animus ἰδὲ consistere ubi recens fraternae cladis fervebat invidia. This was 
written even before the fall of Chrysostom. 


348 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


of my own strength, which I did not really know, since I was 80. 
foolish as not to be aware (as it is written) that ‘none can be 
continent unless Thou give it’ (Wisdom viii. 21)” (Conf. vi. 11, 20). 
Experience had taught Synesius better. ‘It was necessary (ἔδει) 
that Christ should be crucified for the sins of all men” (Hp. 57, 
1385 B). 

Again, the suffering his country had to undergo fell on him no 
more than on his poorer neighbours. He had always been the poor 
man’s friend, though as a Neo-Platonist he could not expect much 
philosophy from the poor and therefore must set them on a lower 
plane. But suffering seems to have put him and them on one level. 
They all suffered alike from savages and bad governors; alike they 
risked life and property, and together they fought and did sentry 
duty for their country. Though Synesius’ own three children had 
not been carried off, he could as a father feel what such a loss was. 
What was to help these poor people, for whom Neo-Platonism was 
too fine and too hard? All this is, of course, inference, but it seems 
to me legitimate when I contrast a. typical Neo-Platonic utterance 
with an expression wrung from Synesius, when bishop, by an outrage 
of the Governor Andronicus. 

Hermes Trismegistus, voicing the pride that went with the 
magical wing of Neo-Platonism, the pride of being able to force the 
gods (ἀναγκάζειν is Iamblichus’ word), writes thus :—‘ Marvellous 
beyond all marvels is it that man could discover the divine nature 
and make it....Calling forth the souls of demons and angels they 
have installed them in holy images and divine mysteries, whereby 
the idols have the power of doing good and doing harm” (4d. Bipont. 
Apul. ii. p. 821)". 3 

Synesius is humbler. “Precious among creatures is man; 
precious in that for him Christ was crucified” (Hp. 57, 1388 ¢). 
It is not an idle question of Augustine when he is writing of the 
Neo-Platonists. ‘‘ Where,’ he demands, “where is that charity 
that edifieth on the foundation of humility, which is Christ Jesus?” 
(Conf. vii. 20, 26). 

It is here that the Christian Church and the Neo-Platonists 
most fundamentally differ, and this must be realized if we are to . 
appreciate Synesius. Otherwise we shall be liable to error, for his 

1 Qn this remarkable utterance, see Augustine, C. D. viii. 23, 24 quasi quid- 
quam sit infelicius homine, cui sua figmenta dominantur! The confusion of the 
Bipontine text dates from the days of St Augustine, who avails himself of it to 


make a point one feels would have been impossible but for the Latin translator 
from Hermes’ original Greek, 


Synesius 349 


terminology is always Neo-Platonic, and many of his views too are 
not yet re-adjusted to the new position. Some have thought that 
because in an hour of trouble he sought comfort in “philosophy,” he 
was harking back to Neo-Platonism, but this is a mistake. He 
merely means reflexion’. 

In 409 the bishopric of Ptolemais, now and for some time pre- 
viously the chief town of the Cyrenaica, became vacant by the death 
of the bishop. In electing bishops the laity still had a voice which 
was often very effective. They did not necessarily confine them- 
selves to men already ordained, but looked about for some man of 
proved capability, who by wealth, birth, position, influence or 
experience would be likely to make a good administrator and a 
protector of the people. It was thus that in Milan Ambrose was 
most unexpectedly consecrated, and that in Constantinople Nectarius, 
Chrysostom’s predecessor, was forcibly seized by the people and 
made bishop. Nothing need be said of Ambrose, but Nectarius 
was a worldly-minded man who liked to enjoy life. Ordination 
cannot have been regarded with much respect, when it was beginning 
already to be used as a method of punishing and reducing to 
obscurity men who had been politically troublesome. How secular 
might be the considerations which led to the choice of a bishop, 
we can see in Synesius’ letters. In one see under his charge, the 
people revolted from a gentle old bishop because he was ineffectual, 
and set up a more drastic person, as they needed a man of energy 
and resource. But when the laity chose Synesius for Ptolemais, 
beside the reflexion that he was able, active and brilliant and had 
strong connexions in Constantinople and Egypt, we may surely 
eredit them with some appreciation of his kindness, his honour and 
his piety. 

The proposal was most unwelcome to him, but he had to con- 
sider it. A short abstract of a letter (Zp. 105) which he wrote to 
his brother will shew his feelings. τ 

“The episcopate is a compliment, but am I fit for it? I think, 
very unfit. I will tell you, for I have no one else. I know you will 
be anxious for my good. Philosophy is all I am equal to. In 
serious things I go my own way, but I also like amusement. Now 
a bishop should be as able to do without amusement as God is. 
- And in serious and sacred things he cannot go his own way and be 
independent, but must belong to everybody and teach what is 


1 Tt may be noted that in the earlier works written after his conversion, 
Augustine as a rule uses philosophic rather than Christian terminology. 


350 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


recognized. He must be a man of affairs, able at once to undertake 
endless business and maintain his spiritual life. For myself, I feel 
it pollution even to go into the town’. A bishop should be stainless 
as he has to wash others of their sins, but my own sins are too 
much for me. 

“As I know you will shew this letter to others, I will be explicit, 
that I may be clear of guilt before God and man, and before Theo- 
philus. I am married. God and the law and the sacred hand of 
Theophilus gave me my wife, and I do not wish to part from her at 
all*. Further, philosophy is opposed to many current dogmata. 
(a) I do not think the soul is made after the body, (6) nor that the world 
and all its parts will be destroyed. (c) The resurrection as preached 
I count a sacred mystery and am far from accepting the general idea. 
(4) To conceal the truth is philosophically sound. ‘Too much truth 
and too much light are dangerous at times®. I cannot obscure these 
opinions now, as I cannot be ordained to God’s service and fail in 
truthfulness by concealing my real thoughts. 

“1 shall be sorry to give up sports. (My poor dogs!) But 
I will; and I will endure business, as a means of doing service to 
God. But my mind and my tongue must not be at variance. 
Theophilus must know all, so that he may either leave me in peace 
as a philosopher or, if he chooses to ordain me, may be unable 
to rule me out of the choir of bishops. If he accepts my terms, 
I will be bishop, for one must be ready to obey God with a good 
will.” 

The weight in this letter falls on the tenets which Synesius says 
are contrary to the usual faith of Christians. They certainly lean 
toward Neo-Platonism. The eternity of the universe is strongly 
insisted on by Macrobius, Hermes Trismegistus and Julian for 
example. The resurrection was repugnant to the school in conse- 
quence of their views on matter. If the essence of the higher life, 
the divine life, is to escape matter, how should matter be raised 
hereafter to be again a fetter on the soul? On the Neo-Platonist 
hypothesis the resurrection of the body was an absurdity. But 


1 Cf. Augustine, Ep. x. 2 Nisi proveniat quaedam magna cessatio, sincerum 
illud bonum gustare atque amare non possum. Magna secessione a tumultu rerum 
labentium, mihi crede, opus est. Like Synesius, Augustine had to surrender this 
life for that of activity. 

2 We are not told the decision about his wife, but it is thought she may have 
solved the difficulty by withdrawing from him voluntarily. This separation 
may have contributed to his depression when bishop. 

8 This line is taken by Augustine, de Mor. Eccl. Cath. vii. 11, who remedies 
the excessive light of divine things by the opacitas auctoritatis. 


Synesius 351 


Volkmann brings out that these views, which Synesius professes, he 
does not emphasize so much because they were Neo-Platonic as 
because they were the views of Origen, against which Theophilus 
had started a terrible campaign involving the downfall and exile of 
Chrysostom. Synesius does not want that fate and does want to be 
open. 

In the light of all this we must interpret the last of the four 
points reasonably. Ψεύδεσθαι “to lie” is a strong word—and is 
stronger in our English than in Synesius’ Greek. With other Neo- 
Platonists he believed in retaining certain things, making mysteries 
and esoteric doctrines of them, and he lavishes a good deal of 
admiration on the Homeric Proteus’, who put on any and every 
sort of form to evade all but the true philosopher, Menelaus, whose 
concern was to know the truth. Dr Hatch has shewn that this 
temper was not unknown in the Church, where the simple rites of 
the early Church were under its influence developed into awful 
mysteries. 

The case was referred to Theophilus, and Synesius spent seven 
or eight months at Alexandria. What happened there we are not 
told. He mentions incidentally that “old men” told him “God 
would be his shepherd”; that “the Holy Spirit is joyous and gives 
joy to those who partake of Him?”; that “God and the demons 
fight for us, and that he by being consecrated would wound the 
demons”; and that “a philosopher’s consecration meant much to 
the world*.” 

It is clear he did not wish to be a bishop and that he anticipated 
great trouble in the discharge of the office. His fears were amply 
realized. Cyrene received as Governor “ἃ man from the tunny- 
fisheries,” Andronicus by name, an extortionate, rapacious and 
vicious man. The people turned for help to their bishop. He had 
just lost a child and was crushed with sorrow. If he says “he 
could have done himself a mischief,” we need not suppose he really 
contemplated suicide, as some have surprisingly concluded. Here 
as elsewhere he merely uses a rather vivid style of speech. He now 


1 Augustine similarly makes Proteus a parable of truth. Contra Academicos, 
iii. 6, 13 Veritatis, inquam, Proteus in carminibus ostentat sustinetque personam, 
quam obtinere nemo potest, si falsis imaginibus deceptus comprehensionis nodos vel 
laxaverit vel dimiserit. 

2 Cf. Augustine, Conf. viii. 11, 27, on the gladness of Christianity, non 
dissolute hilaris. 

Thus Augustine on the conversion of the great rhetorician Victorinus 
speaks of the importance of winning men of note, quod multis noti multis sunt 
auctoritati ad salutem et multis praeeunt secuturis (Conf, viii. 4, 9). 


352 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


tried to do something to mitigate the Governor’s violence, but only 
met insult. He found himself powerless and felt that others realized 
it and regretted their election of him. Overwhelmed with pain at 
his bereavement and mortification at his failure, he had recourse to 
prayer, but “here was the worst of his misfortunes which made his 
life seem hopeless; in the past he had always found God in prayer, 
but now he felt he prayed in vain.” Once again, I think, his 
language has been forced to mean too much. He was essentially 
a man influenced by feelings, and whatever he feels he says freely— 
very much resembling Cicero in his sensibility and outspokenness— 
and it seems to me unfair to infer from such an utterance that his 
Christianity broke down. Andronicus went further. He nailed a 
notice to the church door that he would not recognize the asylum 
of the church, and when Synesius rani~in the full heat of noon to sit 
by a man he was torturing, he raged at the sight of the bishop and 
crowned his madness with the boast, that none should escape 
Andronicus’ hands though he clung to the feet of Christ Himself. 
Now Synesius called a synod together and excommunicated him, 
and in an address (printed among his letters as no. 57) makes an 
apologia pro vita sua, an honourable and affecting defence. To it 
he appended the sentence of excommunication to be forwarded to 
all bishops with an account of Andronicus’ guilt. ‘The villain gave 
way, begged for a second chance, received it and abused it, and the 
bolt was launched, and before long Synesius had to come forward to 
rescue him from injustice. 

The barbarians, Macetae and Ausurians, continued their inroads. 
On two occasions effective generals were sent against them on short 
campaigns, but in the interval they grew so bold as to besiege 
Ptolemais. 

Within two years Synesius lost his two remaining children. He 
writes to Hypatia about them in deep depression. ‘The memory of 
my departed children is wasting me away.... Might I cease either to 
live or to remember my boys’ grave!” (Hp. 16). 

Yet I think the Cyrenians must have counted him a good and 
a wise bishop. As one reads his letters telling Theophilus of his 
procedure, one feels that R. L. Stevenson’s praise of his missionary 
friend, Mr Clarke, might be applied to him—‘‘a man I esteem and 
like to the soles of his boots; I prefer him to anyone in Samoa and ~ 
to most people in the world; a real good missionary with the in- 
estimable advantage of having grown up a layman.” ‘T'act, courtesy, 
common sense and a remarkable absence of any feeling of his own 


Synesius 353 


importance mark his actions. It looks as if the sense of his own 
weakness and sinfulness made him more sympathetic with weak and 
tempted men, with wrong-doers and with men of doubtful opinions. 
One example may suffice. Two bishops had a quarrel about a little 
fort. It was the personal property of the one, and the other stole a 
march on him, consecrated it, and claimed it for his diocese. Some 
held that the consecration was irrevocable and nothing could be 
done. Synesius boldly upset it altogether. There was a proper 
balance to be kept between the sacred laws and the rights of the 
state. He drew a clear line between piety and superstition, the 
vice that aped it, and held it intolerable that by the most sacred 
things the most execrable wrong should be done and that the prayer, 
the table and the mystical curtain should be made the implements 
of violent aggression. It was no Christian teaching [as it was Neo- 
Platonic} that the Divine is subject to ritual word and substance, as 
if by some physical attraction. Where anger, passion and strife 
lead the way in an action, how can the Holy Spirit be there? He 
restored the fort, which he would not allow to be a church, to its 
owner, who, now that his own rights were maintained and his 
adversary had apologized, freely gave him the fort and the hill. 

Synesius’ ordination cost him some friendships, and what that 
meant we may read in one of his latest letters. He gently rebukes 
Auxentius for having dragged him into a quarrel in which he was 
not concerned. ‘Advancing years, I am glad to say, are dulling 
my quick temper; and the sacred Jaws, they say, forbid. At the 
same time I remember our common upbringing and education and 
the life in Cyrene. All this we must suppose to outweigh the suit 
of Sabbatius. Begin then the good work of friendship, and accept 
my good will; for I count the time of my silence as so much loss— 
and do you realize how even then I suffered? But I bore it as well 
as I could—such is the evil of having a quick temper” (Zp. 60). 
_ And here our story ends. The 12th letter seems to imply that 
Theophilus is dead. He died in 412, and this is the latest date 
that can with any certainty be assigned to any work of Synesius’. 
Hence it has been plausibly conjectured his own death must have 
shortly followed. There is a wild theory that Euoptius, bishop of 
Ptolemais in 431, may have been his brother, in which case we gain 
the information that Synesius was dead before 431. 

With his death darkness falls on the history of Cyrene. 

I have so far only casually alluded to his hymns, with one of which, 
the 9th, in Mrs Browning’s rendering, I close my essay. Volkmann 


G. 23 


354 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


says their poetic worth is slight, and this is certainly true of some 
of them, for their metre is very monotonous and their thought 
abstract. 

Some of the hymns are little more than metrical expositions 
of the common doctrines of Neo-Platonism. There is a Trinity, 
which is a Unity, a Father and a Son, linked by the “mediating 
light of the Holy Spirit,” through whom the Father is Father and 
the Son is Son. The Son is the Wisdom that made the world. 
Thence the choir of immortal rulers, the deathless army of angels, 
and all the descending succession of beings. The soul has come 
down to be on earth a servant, but enchanted by the magic arts of 
matter it has become a slave instead of a servant, yet is not without 
some gleam of hidden light, which even in its fallen state may help 
it to rise. His prayer is for divine aid, particularly against distrac- 
tion and disturbance and the confusions of the material world—“let 
the winged snake go underground, the demon of matter, the cloud 
of the soul, that loves phantoms and hounds on its dogs against 
prayer”—‘‘the demons that leap up from the abysses of earth and 
breathe into mortals godless impulses.” Gradually he identifies the 
Son with the Virgin-born Christ, and finally calls him Jesus, still 
keeping the Spirit as the “centre” of the Trinity, and still praying 
for rest and quietness and salvation from matter and all that dis- 
orders the soul. At times he rises to flights that seem to justify the 
very high praise bestowed upon him by Mrs Browning, to whose - 
brilliant essay on the Greek Christian poets I would refer the 
reader. 

“He was a poet,” she writes, “the chief poet, we do not hesitate 
to record our opinion—the chief, for all true and natural gifts, of all 
our Greek Christian poets....These odes have, in fact, a wonderful 
rapture and ecstasy. And if we find in them the phraseology of 
Plato or Plotinus, for he leant lovingly to the later Platonists,— 
nay, if we find in them oblique references to the out-worn mythology 
of paganism, even so have we beheld the mixed multitude of un- 
connected motes wheeling, rising in a great sunshine, as the sunshine 
were a motive energy,—and even so the burning, adoring poet-spirit 
sweeps upward the motes of world-fancies (as if, being in the world, 
their tendency was Godward), upward in a strong stream of sunny 
light, while she rushes into the presence of ‘the Alone.’ We say the 
spirit significantly in speaking of this poet’s aspiration. His is an 
ecstasy of abstract intellect, of pure spirit, cold though impetuous ; 
the heart does not beat in it, nor is the human voice heard; the - 


Synesius 355 


poet is true to the ecclesiastic, and there is no resurrection of the 
body.” 


Well-beloved and glory-laden, 

Born of Solyma’s pure maiden! 

I would hymn Thee, blesstd Warden, 
Driving from thy Father’s garden 
Blinking serpent’s crafty lust, — 

With his bruised head in the dust! 
Down Thou camest, low as earth, 
Bound to those of mortal birth ; 

Down Thou camest, low as hell, 

Where shepherd-Death did tend and keep 
A thousand nations like to sheep, 
While weak with age old Hades fell 
Shivering through his dark to view Thee, 
And the Dog did backward yell 

With jaws all gory to let through Thee! 
So, redeeming from their pain 

Choirs of disembodied ones, | 

Thou didst lead whom Thou didst gather, 
Upward in ascent again, 

With a great hymn to the Father, 
Upward to the pure white thrones! 
King, the daemon tribes of air 
Shuddered back to feel Thee there! 
And the holy stars stood breathless, 
Trembling in their chorus deathless ; 

A low laughter filléd aether— 
Harmony’s most subtle sire 

From the seven strings of his lyre 
Stroked a measured music hither— 

Io paean! victory! 

Smiled the star of morning—he 

Who smileth to foreshow the day! 
Smiléd Hesperus the golden, 

Who smileth soft for Venus gay! 

While that hornéd glory holden 
Brimful from the fount of fire, 

The white moon, was leading higher 

In a gentle pastoral wise 

All the nightly deities! 

Yea, and Titan threw abroad 

The far shining of his hair 

’Neath Thy footsteps holy-fair, 

Owning Thee the Son of God; 

The Mind artificer of all, 

And his own fire’s original. 


23—2 


356 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


And Txov upon Thy wing of will 
Mounting,—Thy God-foot uptill 

The neck of the blue firmament,— 
Soaring, didst alight content 

Where the spirit-spheres were singing, 
And the fount of good was springing, 
In the silent heaven! 

Where Time is not with his tide 
Ever running, never weary, 

Drawing earth-born things aside 
Against the rocks: nor yet are given 
The plagues death-bold that ride the dreary 
Tost matter-depths. Eternity 
Assumes the places which they yield! 
Not aged, howsoe’er she held 

Her crown from everlastingly— 

At once of youth, at once of eld, 
While in that mansion which is hers 
To God and gods she ministers! ! 


1 See Mrs Browning’s poetical works, 1 vol. edition, 1898, pp. 602—605. 
The work of Volkmann, which I have " quoted, is Synesius von Cyrene, by 
R. Volkmann, Berlin, 1869, an excellent and most useful book. 


CHAPTER XV 


GREEK. AND EARLY CHRISTIAN NOVELS 


” 

ἀλλ᾽ aye μοι τόδε εἰπὲ καὶ ἀτρεκέως κατάλεξον 
a 

ὅππῃ ἀπεπλάγχθης τε Kai ἅς Twas ἵκεο χώρας. 


Odyssey viii. 572 


No study of the fourth century would be complete which did 
not in some degree take account of its fiction. Yet to deal with 
it all and with precision would be an extremely difficult task. To 
begin, a good story—and every reader has his own idea of what 
is a good story—a story then that appeals to a large number of 
readers will probably be spread abroad not merely in abundance 
of copies but in various languages. It will be translated from one 
tongue to another, and as it travels it will undergo alterations. 
Passages will be added and others will be omitted. Eventually 
when criticism takes the much travelled story into consideration, 
widely differing recensions of it are found, and it is sometimes no 
easy matter to say which is the original form—has it been expanded 
by a Syrian translator or cut down by a Greek? Many of the tales 
with which we have to deal describe an almost entirely artificial 
world, and offer nothing beyond their style as a guide to the critic 
who will date them, and in some cases this is hardly any help at 
all, so that a novel like that of Longus is loosely dated as of the 
second to the fourth century. Others conceal the date of their 
creation of set purpose and flaunt a false one, and though the 
falsehood may be readily detected, the true date can often only be 
determined by long and tiresome critical processes, with the result 
- that critics come to very different conclusions. 

If however we bear in mind that, while the dates of the first 
appearances of the particular books to which we have to refer are 
in many cases highly conjectural, these works yet represent the 
popular taste for long after as well as before the period with which 


358 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


we are dealing, and that their kind, if not themselves, has profoundly 
influenced actual productions of our period, we may without material 
error draw some real advantage from our study. We may begin 
by a short survey of the general lines of development of Greek 
fiction, for though a literary pedigree may be as hard to prove 
as a canine, no work of art of any sort can help in some measure 
betraying the environment in which it was produced, and something 
of the processes by which that stage has been reached. At the 
same time the author’s individuality must be recognized. To take 
a modern example, it is quite clear that Paul and Virginia owes 
much to Daphnis and Chloe, and it is also clear that it owes a 
good deal to Robinson Crusoe, the book which of all books most 
influenced Bernardin de St Pierre from youth to age. Yet Paul 
is agitated by questions that Daphnis never dreamt of, and which 
he himself could hardly have dreamt of, if he had not been created 
in the age of Rousseau, to say nothing of his creator’s friendship 
with Rousseau. Again, though the work has been pronounced to 
be in some degree even anti-Christian in its quiet ignoring of such 
matters as original sin and any necessity for redemption, and its 
implication that man is born good, if only society will not corrupt 
him, yet the difference between Paul and Daphnis, between Virginia 
and Chloe, is not to be explained without Christianity. We thus 
see that Longus, Defoe, Rousseau and the Catholic Church have 
all contributed to this book, but perhaps after all we must recognize 


that Bernardin de St Pierre contributed to it, or else we may have 


to pronounce Shakespeare a second-hand dramatist. 

We need not however write the history of literature to interpret 
Xanthippe and Polyxena or the Life of Antony and their con- 
temporary rivals. I would refer the reader to the admirable work 
of Chassang, Histoire du Roman, which has been highly praised by 
Sainte-Beuve but not too highly, and the more special monograph 


of Erwin Rohde, Der Griechische Roman. At the same time, 


clearness will be gained by giving a very short sketch of the course 
of development that Greek fiction has followed’. 

We may then classify our material very roughly in some five 
groups, premising that in many cases it will be difficult to say 
under which heading this or that work should more properly come, 
as the same book may share the characteristics of more than one 


1 A. Chassang, Histoire du Roman dans lV Antiquité Grecque et Latine, Paris, 
Didier, 1862; (Sainte-Beuve, Nouveaux Lundis, vol. ii.). Erwin Rohde, Der 
Griechische Roman τι. seine Vorliufer, Leipzig; Breitkopf and Hartel, 1876. 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 359 


class. Our five classes may then be taken as (a) the tale of Troy 
and cognate legends of early Greece, (b) the literary offspring of 
Plato in two families—the descendants of Atlantis and of Er the 
Armenian, (c) the history, degenerating into the romance, of 
Alexander, with two great subdivisions, the tale of the hero, and 
the tale of travel, (d) the avowed love-tale, and (6) the fiction 
with an immediate national or religious purpose. 

Our first group need not detain us long, important as it is, 
The tale of Troy and the other tales of early Greece were first 
worked over by the tragic poets; they were systematized by 
collectors of mythology, and violently rationalized into history by 
historians of the lower type, who “tortured mythology to the 
detriment of poetry and without profit to history’”; they were 
altered and abused by rhetoricians and sophists like Philostratus 
(in his Heroicus) and the fabricators of Dares and Dictys; they 
were turned into pantomimes and danced all over the Roman world 
and perhaps even outside it; they recaptured Europe in the middle 
ages, when Achilles and Hector disputed the popularity of Roland 
and Arthur?: and finally at the revival of learning they took with 
new life a still deeper hold on a wider world, which they yet retain. 

Our second group we associate for convenience with the name 
of Plato. While some took Atlantis for a 198) country, others saw 
more clearly that, as Strabo wittily says, “its creator destroyed 
it just as the poet did the wall of the Greeks” (c. 102). Real 
or imaginary, it was a fruitful example, and the seas of the world, 
or rather the parts outside the world, were dotted with ideal 
communities on happy islands, which alas! fled further and further 
away with the growth of Geography. As might be expected, 
these lands appeared most often when the existing countries were 
labouring under unhappy conditions. At a later day, and this is 
more important for our present purpose, when the centre of gravity: 
in philosophy had shifted from the state to the individual, a new 
type of Utopia displaces the old, the Utopia of happy thinkers who 
live an ideal life of contemplation without any government at all, 
without a state or social questions, and free from all disquieting 
foreign or domestic policies. The book On the Contemplative 


1 Chassang’s phrase. See Boissier, Country of Horace and Virgil, c. iii. § 1, 
a good chapter dealing with the legend of Aeneas ‘‘falling into the hands of the 
chroniclers and scholiasts. It had no reason to rejoice....The learned are not 
light-hand 

2 See Comparetti, Vergil in the Middle Ages, pt. τι. 6. 1, who shews Virgil’s 
share in the popularity of the story of Troy. 


360 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Life, attributed, though wrongly, to Philo the Jew, is an example 
of this. It describes the Therapeutae, who lived an ascetic 
life. together in large numbers a little way out of Alexandria, so 
successfully avoiding attention that no geographer, traveller or 
philosopher ever found them except in the novel. 

The story of Er the Armenian was much derided by the 
Epicureans, but it had a great influence. Cicero imitated it in 
his dream of Scipio, which in its turn produced Macrobius’ com- 
mentary, a book much used in the middle ages. Plutarch twice 
copied it—in his vision of Timarchus (in the de genio Socratis) 
and his story of the trance of Thespesius (de sera numinum vin- 
dicta), the latter, according to Archbishop Trench, being not 
altogether unworthy to stand beside Plato’s Er’. How far these 
and similar works may have influenced the authors of such Christian 
apocalypses as those that bear the names of Peter and of Paul, 
or whether their inspiration is to be found exclusively in the 
Jewish thought that gave birth to such works as The Secrets 
of Enoch and the apocalypse of Baruch, it is not for me to de- 
termine. | 

Our third group is perhaps more popular. The imagination 
of the Greek world seized on Alexander and his wars and his travels, 
embellished the tale with the marvels of mythology and the wonders 
of India, and in the end left very little of the real Alexander. 
Travellers’ tales confused by far-away memories of the Mahabharata 
and the Ramayana, by misunderstood monuments of Indian art or 
worship, by Brahmanical fables of all sorts, attached themselves 
to Alexander, and the marvellous tale grew with every generation®. 
The false Callisthenes’ story of Alexander exists in some twenty 
manuscripts with corruptions and additions of every age. Now it 
was the Huns and now the Turks that the hero repelled. The 
book was done into Latin, into Armenian, into Arabic and thence 
into Syriac and Persian, into Hebrew from the Latin, into Turkish, 
into Ethiopic from the Arabic version of the Greek, and so forth®. 
Elements were borrowed from it for other tales as freely as they 
were added to it, and it has recently been pointed out that Scottish 
history has been enriched from this source, for it seems that Bruce’s 
speech at Bannockburn and his slaying of Bohun are “ practically 

1 Trench, Plutarch, p. 143. 

3 Chassang, op. cit. 140. Sainte-Beuve’s comment on the infinence of 
Alexander on Greek letters deserves quotation: “‘Le goat attique avait été lui 


aussi vaincu ἃ Chéronée” (Nouveaux Lundis, ii. p. 423). 
5. E, A. Wallis Budge, Intr. to the Syriac Hist. of Alexander the Great. 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 361 


identical, even in language, with portions of an early Scots trans- 
lation of the old French romance of Alexander the Great.” It is 
comforting that this discovery has been made by a Scotsman’. - 

The romance of the hero is of course older than Alexander. 
Mankind did not wait till his day for tales of adventure, witness 
the Odyssey, “ die iilteste Robinsonade.” Again, the Cyropaedia is 
a romance of a hero’s education, and it is only in comparatively 
modern times that it began to pass for history*, Romances por- 
traying ideal types of character multiply with time. Cato was 
hardly dead before his party began to canonize him. Brutus, Cicero 
and Fadius Gallus at once wrote Catos, and Caesar had to reply 
with an anti-Cato and set Hirtius to make another*®. But it was 
later and in philosophy that most of this work was done. Philo- 
stratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana was undertaken at the 
command of an Empress, Julia Augusta, because the Life which 
she had wanted literary merit. Philostratus sends Apollonius 
everywhere, with some errors of Geography, and sets him to perform 
miracles and expose devils, with no regard for sense or fact. Now 
he catches a satyr asleep’, now he shews a young man that his 
sweetheart is an Empusa intent on sucking his blood. It has been 
supposed that this work was meant to counteract the gospels, but 
it soars away from them into a rarefied atmosphere of New Pytha- 
goreanism, of mystic asceticism. ‘I'he real contrast is with Socrates, 
Chassang says, and not with Christ. Porphyry in a somewhat 
similar spirit wrote a life of Pythagoras, and even in the life of 
his own master, Plotinus, sees fit, alongside of lists of his works, 
to introduce interviews with demons and gods called up by magic’. 
This characteristi¢ introduction of the magical into biography must 
be remembered when we are dealing with the lives of the saints, 
for it is not peculiar to them; indeed it is often less noticeable 
there than in pagan works. In some measure we may take Lucian’s 
story of the ingenious false prophet Alexander and his god re- 
incarnated in a snake as a reaction at once against magic and 
prophet. . 


1 T owe the fact to Mr Andrew Lang’s review of Mr Neilson’s John Barbour, 
Poet and Translator. 

2 See Chassang’s excellent chapter on this work, pp. 45—70. 

3 Cicero, ad Att. xii, 45, ad Fam. vii. 24. 

4 St Jerome has a satyr awake in his Life of Paul—a surprisingly pious 
one—and he declares that all the world knows another was exhibited alive 
at Alexandria in Constantius’ reign (c. 8). 

5 See St Augustine’s criticism on Porphyry in this matter, C. D. x. 9—11. 


362 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


The romance of travel was pushed beyond all reason till “ things 
beyond Thule” (a reference to the romance of Antonius Diogenes) 
was a by-word for an impossible story. Ethiopians and Indians 
and especially Brahmans were the stock-in-trade of this kind of 
writing, along with big-eared men, dog-headed and one-eyed men, 
who reappear in Sir John Mandeville. Lucian in his True History 
parodies this class of fiction, naming as his great models Ctesias 
and Jambulus, and above all “‘Homer’s Odysseus, who is their leader 
and teacher in this nonsense.” Anticipating Jules Verne he goes 
from the earth to the moon, and travels probably ten thousand 
leagues under the sea, perhaps with more comfort than the French- 
man’s heroes, for he finds a large island inside a big fish, Inci- 
dentally he reaches the Islands of the Blessed, and meets Homer 
who writes him a poem, and Odysseus who gives him a message 
for Calypso. There is not, as in Gulliver, any special satire against 
society in this piece, except the general satire against “the estab- 
lished practice of lying that marks philosophers”—no doubt a fling 
at the Utopia-makers. 

Our fourth class is the love-tale. Rohde has traced its ante- 
cedents to local legends and popular tales, treated and modified 
by the writers of Alexandria, and preserving much of their style, 
not without traces of oriental influences. Such “tales of Miletus” 
were early popular and early won a bad name. It is notorious 
how many of them were found in the loot of Crassus’ camp by 
the Parthians in 53 B.c. They continued to be written anew for 
many centuries, sometimes in the form of letters. One of them 
is readily accessible to the English reader in Pericles, Prince of 
Tyre. This was originally a Greek romance’, written perhaps in 
the third century, worked over by a Latin, perhaps in the seventh, 
who confused it, adding the story of King Antiochus which has 
singularly little connexion with the rest, some more or less Christian 
reflexions and some Latin riddles. It passed into the Gesta Roma- 
norum, and was done into English verse by Gower and incurred the 
censure of Chaucer : 


But certainly no word ne wryteth he 
Of thilke wikke ensample of Canace 
That lovede hir owne brother sinfully ; 
Of swiche cursed stories I sey “fy” ; 


1 See Rohde, op. cit. iv. 3, pp. 408—424. 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 363 


Or elles of Tyro Apollonius... 
Of swiche unkinde abominaciouns 
Ne I wol noon reherse, if that I may1. 


Shakespeare turns Apollonius into Pericles, but holds fairly closely 
to the old tale’s incidents. 

It is a strange feature about this class of tale that, while the 
episodes are often extremely indecent, the character of the heroine, 
sometimes by accident only, but generally of her set design, is kept 
stainlessly pure. She is invariably a beautiful doll, who wakens 
the most unfortunate passions by her beauty. It may be that 
this preservation of her chastity survives from older days before 
the sophists and stylists took the romance in hand, days when 
it was a tale told among the common people, with a preference 
for bourgeois virtue, which was foreign to the goddesses and prin- 
cesses of legend. None the less, serious people frowned on this 
class of books, and Julian forbade his priests to read them. 

Our fifth class, while still fiction, is of rather a different 
character. I group here anecdotes, which swell into imaginary 
episodes of history for a purpose. Josephus quotes an old tale 
of a most friendly interview between Alexander the Great and 
the Jewish High Priest, invented as a document to support national 
claims. Such devices were not unknown to the Romans, and later 
on were revived with great effects in the Donation of Constantine 
and the False Decretals. Of course these are forgeries, but there 
are other productions surely meriting a less severe name. ‘There 
is a great deal of Jewish apocalyptic writing, every book bearing 
the name of some great worthy of the past who did not write it. 
Their object was to justify the ways of God to men, and to explain 
why good and evil fall to men as it seems without distinction of 
vice and virtue, and above all why the nation, God’s chosen people, 
the righteous people, fared so ill. Enoch is made to prophesy and 
see into things invisible in order.to encourage the writer's con- 
temporaries to faith and courage. Antiquity was not very severe 
as a rule in the domain of criticism, and saw. nothing morally 
- questionable in attributing a document to a great name to secure 
its reaching its goal. The book of Enoch had a wide influence 
not only on other similar literature but on some of the New 
Testament writers. Among the heathen, poems reputed to be by 
Orpheus were circulated at a late date, and abundance of oracles 


1 Prologue to the Man of Lawe’s Tale. 


364 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


were invented by Jew and Christian for the Sibyl, but as these are 
in verse we perhaps need not further consider them. 

These then are our five classes. They are not mutually exclusive, 
for the Greek romance of love, as we have it to-day, has elements 
of the romance of travel and perhaps even of the Utopia. 
Nor are they quite comprehensive enough, for it would be hard 
to set down in any one of them the Latin Golden Ass of Apuleius, 
and still harder the book of Petronius Arbiter. But after all these 
are both avowedly medleys, and parts of his work Apuleius drew, 
he says, from Milesian tales. What of Cupid and Psyche? Where 
does it come? Myth, parable or fairy tale, which is it? 

Eventually Greek romance and literature generally fell into the 
hands of sophists and rhetoricians. We may say, this happened 
under Roman rule, recent discoveries shewing that the erotic novel 
as we know it was already in full bloom in the first century. 
Rhetoric pervaded everything. Romancers, poets, emperors and 
fathers of the Church, all are tinged with it. The sermon of the 
Christian preacher was called by the same name as the declamation 
of the rhetorician (homilia, logos), and indeed was modelled after 
it’. East and West, Roman and Greek, felt the effects of the 
rhetorical school, 

Synesius was a great admirer of Dio Chrysostom, the prince of 
rhetorical sophists, but he draws a distinction between his rhetorical 
and his political declamations. In the former, he says, Dio “ holds 
his head high and gives himself airs, like the peacock turniny round 
to look at itself; he seems delighted with the charms of his discourse, 
as if this were his only aim, as if his end were grace of expression.” 
This attitude of the peacock, acute self-consciousness, tends to spoil 
every production of the rhetorical schools, including the novels. 
Style is the first thing and often the last, style so overdone that 
in the end it is deplorable. Fine phrases are stolen, pretty words 
hunted up, scraps of poetry culled from every age of poets, and 
all are woven together into a patchwork of preciousness*. The 

1 See Hatch, Hibbert Lectures, no. iv. on Greek and Christian rhetoric. 

2 None of the Greeks is half so successful in this style as Apuleius. Here 
genius has lifted a style of most doubtful antecedents into a region far above 
anything of the kind in Greek. The Golden Ass isa triumph. Sainte-Beuve 
is right on this against whatever odds, Nouveaux Lundis, vol. ii. p, 442. For 
strange judgments on the school, cf. Monceaux (cited by Boissier, L’ Afrique 
Romaine, p. 246) who thinks Ap. has ‘‘the air of a Bedouin at/a congress of 
classies.”” Koziol, der Stil des L. Apuleius, may be consulted, especially the 
section B (on figures). Socrates (vi. 22) says of Bp Sisinnius, λεξιθηρεῖ καὶ 


ποιητικὰς παραμίγνυσι Aéers—a good description of the school—and goes on to 
say he was better to listen to than to read. 


ων. 4 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 365 


main thing is to display the author’s cleverness, and he tries to 
do this by descriptions of every kind. 

Yet while they were pilfering from Homer’s vocabulary, the 
sophists never learnt why he did not describe Helen, for example, 
though her beauty was the base of his whole story’. Physical 
beauty is the outcome of a combination of a large number of 
elements all taking effect at once. The painter can therefore repro- 
duce it but not the poet. The poet can make a list of some or 
all of these elements but he cannot coordinate them, nor can the 
rhetorician do more. His list can no more produce the effect of 
beauty, than a series of labelled and stoppered bottles, full of 
simple chemical substances, ranged along a laboratory shelf, can 
be said to represent some highly complicated compound of them all. 

If it is not a human being, it is a scene, a landscape, that is 
described, or the picture of one. ‘Thus Achilles Tatius begins his 
novel with a description of a picture of Europa and the bull. 
“uropa’s the picture; the Phoenicians’ the sea; Sidon’s the land. 
On the land a meadow and a troop of maidens. In the sea a bull 
was swimming, and on his back a fair maiden sat, sailing to Crete 
on the bull. With many flowers bloomed the meadow; with them 
was mingled an array (phalanx) of trees and shrubs ; close together 
the trees; intermingled their leaves; the branches joined their 
leaves, and thus the thickness of the leaves was to the flowers a 
roof. The artist had painted under the leaves the shade also; 
and the sun gently strayed down the meadow in patches, so far 
as the painter opened the over-arching of the leafy foliage. The 
whole meadow an enclosure walled about. The beds of flowers 
grew in rows under the leaves of the shrubs, narcissus and roses 
and myrtles. And water ran through the midst of the meadow 
in the picture, some springing up from the earth below, some 
poured about the flowers and the shrubs. And a field-waterer 
had been painted with a mattock in his hand, bending over one 
ditch and opening a way for the water.” ‘This figure is borrowed 
from Homer (liad xxi. 257) as a number of verbal coincidences 
plainly shew, and he adds the one touch of life to the picture. 
For the rest it is conventional, and so it always is. The criticism 
Bernardin de St Pierre passed on travellers’ descriptions will do 
for those of the sophists—‘they are as barren as a geographical 
map: Hindostan resembles Europe; there is no character in it*.” 


1 See Lessing, Laocoon, c. 20. 
2 Arvéde Barine, Bernardin de St Pierre (Engl. ed.), p. 51. 


8606 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Compare Atalanta’s cave in the Arcadian bush. There is of course 
ivy about it, and ivy in the trees; crocuses in the soft and deep 
grass, and hyacinth and many other hues of flowers, not only as 
a feast for the vision, but their fragrance seized the air around, ete. 
Laurels there were many, and vines growing before the cave shewed 
the labour of Atalanta; continuous and never-failing waters, fair 
to see and cold, to judge by touch and learn by taste, flowed 
plenteous and ungrudging, convenient for the watering of the trees ; 
and the spot was full of charms, making an austere and modest 
chamber for the maiden’. Compare again a livelier document, 
Synesius’ letter to his brother (Hp. 114), for another scene of 
flower and tree’. 

Sometimes the novelists will adorn their stories with descriptions 
of natural marvels. Here is Achilles T'atius on the hippopotamus, a 
most appropriate animal for a love-tale, but it comes in very grace- 
fully: Charmides, a military officer, invites hero and heroine, who 
have just been rescued by him, to inspect the beast newly killed 
by his men. “The horse of the Nile the Egyptians call it, and 
it is a horse (as its name implies) in regard to belly and feet, 
except that it splits the hoof: in size about the biggest ox; its 
tail short and bare of hair, as the rest of its body is also: its 
head round, not small: its cheeks like a horse’s; its nostril gaping 
wide and breathing fiery smoke, as from a fount of fire; its chin 
broad as its cheek; its mouth opens back to its eyebrows. Its 
canine teeth are curved, in shape and place like a horse’s but three 
times the size” (iv. 2). The reader should now have no difficulty in 
recognizing the beast. From the hippopotamus it is but a step 
to the elephant (cc. 4, 5) and not very far to the crocodile (c. 19). 
It will be seen that the luckless lovers are in Egypt, an almost 
inevitable country for lovers. 

Sometimes the novelist prefers magic to nature.. In the love- 
tales the magic is generally slight, an oracle perhaps at most, 
but in lives of holy men there is plenty of it—demons, enchant- 
ments, transportations and so forth. How far Apuleius’ Golden 
Ass begins by being gently satirical only, I cannot say, but it does 
not so end. The whole basis of the tale is magic, and if in some 
of the episodes the author is making fun of it, he certainly had 
to stand his trial on a charge of using magic. The heathen revival 
of the second and third centuries was in fact largely based on 


1 Aelian, V. H. xiii. 1. 2 Cited on p. 336. 


ee Ά πσ 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 367 


magic—a point not always realized. If comment be needed, 
Lucian’s amusing dialogue called The Lover of Falsehood may be 
_ read, a beautiful collection of ghost stories and enchantments. If 
Lucian scoffed, and the devout trembled, the rhetorician was cool, 
and added magic to his other themes for decoration. 

Descriptions of emotions delight the school. Achilles in par- 
ticular enjoys describing their psychology—explaining tears, or the 
effect of anger on the feelings. Longus is less clever, but more 
successful (if still rhetorical), and traces the gradual growth of love 
in Daphnis and Chloe with great delicacy according to Sainte- 
Beuve, but perhaps to say this one must be devoted to Paul 
and Virginia. 

Summing up then we may say that the rhetorical novelist tries 
to capture us by his exhibitions of cleverness, his descriptions, his 
general brilliance, but he does not move us or convince us. The 
reason is that after all he is out of touch with life and reality. 
His scenes are unreal and conventional, never drawn from nature, 
but from books. His figures are unreal too—dolls, puppets, 
automata. ‘The hero and the heroine, the gentlemanly brigand’, 
the too susceptible captain, the pirate, are all lifeless, none realized. 
They have no individuality, no distinctive character. Their only 
motive is what their creator calls love, which is too good a name 
for it. With every newcomer to the scene, the heroine is in fresh 
danger. But even with this one motive or incentive, no legitimate 
action ever takes place. ‘There are no real consequences of any- 
thing. Everything is chance. Sometimes an oracle, sometimes a 
dream starts things, and then begins a wild series of mechanical 
adventures, pirates, storms, robbers, slavery, separation, murder 
(never real murder) and everything to harass hero, heroine and 
reader. One thing is always certain—what will happen next is 
beyond conjecture, but in the end it will not matter, for nothing 
ever comes of threatening danger except delay. It should not be 
so, but “the fortuitous interference of Providence” (to quote Prof. 
Mahaffy’s Irish judge) is invariable, and hero and heroine are 
rescued for the next mishap. “Once more,” cries Xenophon’s 
heroine, “once more pirates and sea! once more am I a captive!” 
Of course she is, and she may expect to lose her lover and follow 
him or be pursued by him over land and sea, coming within a 


1 One must however respect the best of all possible brigands—those of 
Apuleius in the Golden Ass, bk. iv. ‘‘C’est ἃ donner envie de se faire brigand, 
si l’on a du coeur,” says Sainte-Beuve of the story of Lamachus there told. 


968 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


hair’s-breadth of meeting him, but never achieving it till the last 
book, when, as Rohde says, one is glad to find them accidentally 
meeting, so that the marionettes can be laid back in the box’. 

One consequence in literature of this general failure to be true 
to reality is the decline of history. True, we have in Eusebius, 
Ammianus and Socrates three admirable historians, judicious, 
thoughtful and truthful, but perhaps the bad name of Rufinus is 
a better index of the feeling of the day. It is very interesting 
to see how Socrates from the first emphatically disclaims rhetoric— 
he will “give no thought to pomp of diction” (i. 1, 3)—and 
when by and by he finds out that Rufinus instead of consulting 
evidence has been guessing (καταστοχάζεσθαι), he goes back over 
his work and remodels his own first two books to bring them into 
harmony with truth (ii. 1, 3). Jerome himself accuses Rufinus of 
lying—of saying whatever comes into his mouth (quidquid in buccam 
venerit—a much better phrase). This is exactly the mark of 
rhetorical history, carelessness of everything but effect. The 
anecdote triumphs over everything but the speech, for every great 
man in history becomes a declaimer. The great defect of the 
rhetoricians, says Chassang, is to make their heroes in their own 
image*. Alexander the Great, Apollonius of Tyana, Pythagoras 
are drawn as the rhetorician thinks they should have been, very 
like himself. He inserts in their story anything that interests 
himself or that he thinks telling. I have already alluded to 
Porphyry’s life of his teacher Plotinus, which shews history 
degenerating into romance. The effects of this style of writing 
are far-reaching. 

That Christian writers should be influenced by their environment 
is not surprising. ‘They are harshly judged sometimes in our days 
for faults they shared with heathen contemporaries: rather unjustly 
so, for the really remarkable thing is that they are on the whole 
so free comparatively from them, and after all they are known and 
read because they were so free. Everybody knows ‘Tertullian’s faults, 
and as they are not those of to-day they attract attention. How 
many critics of Tertullian could give as good an account of Philo- 
stratus or Porphyry or even Apuleius? There is no comparison 
between the men. ‘Tertullian has many faults of style which they 
have, but he is clean, he is serious and he is truthful. There is no one 


1 Rohde, op. cit. p. 400. 
2 Cf. Comparetti, op. cit. pt. m.c. 1, on the medieval transformation of Virgil 
into a magician. 


ee 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 369 


so terribly in earnest as he with his seriousness born of penitence, 
but he flashes with assonance, antithesis and epigram to match 
the most flippant. But the writers with whom we are dealing are 
smaller men and more obscure. Yet they too, while reflecting their 
age, are marked by the seriousness of the new view of life. 

In the first place the Christian novelists, if I may so call them, 
while they often shew the same faults as the heathen, do not shew 
them in such excess. ‘Their pictures of life and society are still 
very apt to be conventional, and, if not conventional, at least 
unreal. heir characters are often wooden and their history is 
sadly to seek. But, whether the reader count this for better or 
for worse, they have less of. the rhetorical style, they are less self- 
conscious in their writing, less clever. They have fewer arts and 
do not attempt to fly so high. Secondly, they are more alive and 
more serious. ‘hey are conscious of new motives in life, of new 
inspiration, and it is these that as a rule have led them to write, 
and their writing reflects the quickened spirit. 

In almost every kind of literature they challenged the heathen 
world. ‘They had no new story of Troy, but they had a new tale 
of truth, and Juvencus wrote about 330 his four books of Evangelic 
History—a marvellous feat. He made a harmony of the gospels 
in Latin hexameters, in a plain honest style, wonderfully faithful 
to the original and yet not without some poetic quality, though 
the metre is a little monotonous Apollinaris tried the same in 
Greek but his work did not survive. But our theme is fiction. 

The romance of the hero is represented by a long list of false 
gospels, some more or less dependent on the canonical four, but 
all tending to embellish and decorate them with fanciful incidents 
and other rhetorical devices. Acts of the apostles are perhaps even 
more numerous, and these permit the interweaving of the romance 
of travel. Not many of them but some have elements of the 
love-tale. 

I do not know the date of “the wondrous and marvellous 
history of the glorious acts of Philip the Apostle and Evangelist.” 
It is only extant in Syriac, and was probably first written in that 
tongue. It certainly deserves its name. Philip, in answer to his 
sea-captain’s despair, prays for a wind that shall take them from 
Caesarea to Carthage in a day, and it comes and incidentally 
hangs head-downward from the mast a blaspheming Jewish pas- 
senger. “The ship was flying and going over the water like an 
eagle in the air,” and the Jew hanging by his great toes was very 


6. 24 


870 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


uncomfortable. Philip inquires, “Now how dost thou view the 
matter?” and the Jew’s confession is so extensive that we feel 
either he or the historian has read the apologists on the Old 
Testament. Philip rejoiced at this conversion, and the penitent 
is released. Arrived at Carthage Philip proceeds to find Satan, 
“an Indian man” (.6. a black man) on a throne, with a belt of 
two snakes and a garland of vipers, with eyes like coals of fire, 
and belching flame from his mouth. He is overthrown by the 
sign of the cross, and Philip sets forth to preach. 

The Acts of Thomas is a very different work, having a clear 
purpose in its insistence on virginity and asceticism—a Gnostic 
book also written by a Syrian and therefore perhaps outside our 
scope, though it is found in a Greek translation. We shall give 
more attention to an original composition in Greek on Greek models 
and of undisputed orthodoxy—the Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena. 

Another group of Christian romances, while connected with 
the tale of the hero, is perhaps rather to be classed with the Utopias. 
The romance of hermit life begins perhaps with Antony and goes 
on with Paul and others, and there is this distinction between it 
and an Alexander the Great that it exhibits an ideal life which 
all men may follow. We may all be Antonies,. and the writer 
indicates that we should if we knew what is good for us, but 
Alexander lies beyond us. 

Lastly, we may set down the apocalypses with their pictures of 
the other world in the same class with Er the Armenian, though, 
as I have indicated, their descent from him is very doubtful. Here 
too we often find a special purpose beside the general moral drift 
which marks such works, 

Now that we have made our survey of Pagan and Christian fiction, 
it will be well to concentrate our attention on one or two examples 
of each class. ‘The pagans will be represented by Achilles Tatius 
because he is like most of the pagan novelists, and Longus because 
he is unlike them. The Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena is a 
clear imitation of these by a Christian hand. The latter part of 
the Gospel of Nicodemus will illustrate romance attaching itself 
to the Gospel. The Apocalypse of Paul will shew us a link in 
a great series of visions of hell and give us a hint of a great 
movement, which was not merely pictured in the Life of Antony 
but immensely promoted by it. 

The story of Clitophon and Leucippe is told by Achilles Tatius 
in eight books. The date of its composition is uncertain. Rohde 


1, oo ee νυν ee ee 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 371 


puts it after the beginning of the third century and before the 
middle of the fourth. The tale is told by the hero to the author 
whom he meets in front of the picture of Europa and the bull, 
part of the description of which I have quoted. Clitophon, a young 
man of T'yre, it was designed by his father, should marry his half- 
sister, but he did not want to, and instead fell in love with his 
cousin Leucippe from Byzantium. He wins her love by sighs and 
other pretty manceuvres, and a little chapter is devoted to their 
drinking from each other’s cups turn about by way of signalling 
kisses. Ere long of course, for lovers must have adventures, they 
fly together and take ship at Berytus for Alexandria. They meet 
a storm, a rhetorician’s storm, and are shipwrecked, reaching safety 
at Pelusium, where they see some works of art (carefully described) 
in a temple. They are caught by robbers and separated. Clito- 
phon’s rescue comes first, and he has to look on helplessly while 
Leucippe is made a human sacrifice, but he finds very soon it was 
a mere pantomime done with a collapsible dagger from a theatre. 
Then Charmides, the commander of the soldiers who rescued them, 
falls in love with Leucippe, who resists him, but is rendered dra- 
matically insane by a potion given by another lover. After some 
fighting between soldiers and natives, Clitophon gets her safely 
away, cured by another charm. She is kidnapped again, and from 
the deck of his ship in pursuit Clitophon sees her head cut off— 
this time it is not a theatrical dagger, and a head is cut off, though 
of course not Leucippe’s, as it turns out afterwards. He now returns 
to Alexandria and a rich widow falls in love with him, and carries 
him back to Ephesus. ‘There he finds Leucippe a slave, and 
terrible complications follow. The widow’s husband re-appears, for 
he had not after all been drowned, and he strongly disapproves of 
Clitophon. Melite (the lady no longer a widow) finds out about 
Leucippe, who is assailed first by a fellow-slave and then by 
Melite’s husband but is saved from both. Prison and process, 
escapes and entanglements now jostle one another in quick suc- 
cession for hero and heroine, but all characters are cleared by the 
ordeal of a miraculous fountain, which always drowns the perjurer. 
Melite distinctly gets the better of heaven by an ingeniously 
worded oath’. Clitophon and Leucippe go to Byzantium and are 
married, and the half-sister at Tyre is also married to a man who 


1 This is later on a favourite device of story-tellers. Cf. Comparetti, Vergil 
in the Middle Ages, p. 337. 


24—2 


372 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


early in the story had kidnapped her under the impression that she 
was Leucippe. What more ? 

Descriptions of nature, as we have seen, and discussions of 
psychology, excursions into mythology, geography and antiquarian- 
ism, an account of the Nile, a picture of Alexandria, speeches, 


letters and all sorts of things embellish the tale, but hardly save 


it from being tiresome. Achilles does not trouble heaven very 
much, but trusts to Fortune giving him all the confusion he wants. 
Yet at one time he has recourse to a dream to stop Clitophon’s 
marriage. And after all, when once the half-sister was kidnapped, 
everything was clear and there need have been no elopement, but 
in that case there would have been no tale. 

Suidas says this man Achilles became a Christian and was 
made a bishop, but critics find in this a mere imitation of the 
similar tale about Heliodorus. Socrates says, people said that 


Heliodorus, bishop of Tricca, was the author of the romance Aethio-— 


pica—it was a mere story which he quoted. Heliodorus says of 
himself that he was a Phoenician of Emesa, a descendant of the 


Sun, and Rohde rather associates him with the revival of Νφο- 


Pythagoreanism and the Syrian dynasty in the early years of the 
third century. Neither he nor Achilles is to be credited with 
a bishopric. 

The romance of Longus’ depends for its charm on quiet country 
life with no foreign adventures. ‘T'rue there are one or two raids 
upon the peaceful scene, but heaven interposes some miracles and 
all is restored to be as it was. I do not know that the story 
would be affected, except perhaps in length, by the complete omis- 
sion of these episodes. 

It is a tale of two children, a boy and a girl, exposed as infants 
by their parents and miraculously preserved. ‘This does not seem 
a very probable beginning for a tale, but it is more probable than 
it seems. One of the things that distinguished Christians from 
pagans was, according to the apologists, that they did not expose 
their children. ‘Tertullian tells a horrible story of one actual case 
among heathens. The reason in Longus’ case for using this artifice 
was to give a conclusion of wealth and splendour to his tale, and 
to introduce a momentary doubt as to whether Daphnis, recognized 


1 See Sainte-Beuve’s essay in Nouveaux Lundis, vol. iv. He quotes Villemain 
and Goethe as types of the severe and the appreciative critics of Longus, leaning 


himself to admiration, as he is perhaps apt to do, but not failing to remark — 


some necessary deductions. 


Ee 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 373 


as a rich man’s son, would still care to marry Chloe. Dio Chry- 
sostom, in his Huboicus, draws a picture of the happy life and 
contented poverty of two families of hunters in the wild lands of 
Euboea, but for a romance one wants a more triumphant ending 
than for a political or social parable. 

The chief interest of Longus’ novel lies in the idealization of the 
love of a boy and girl growing up together among goats and sheep 
in the happy worship of Pan and the nymphs. There are points 
that strike a modern reader oddly, as for instance Chloe’s failure 
to remark the existence of such a thing as an echo till she was 
about fourteen. They both are too surprisingly innocent to be 
convincing, and here it is that Longus shews himself unmistakably 
of the family of Priapus by an exaggerated and impossible naiveté. 
Longus is at last disgusting, where Saint-Pierre is beautiful. But 
if we take episodes out of the story and concentrate attention on 
them as some of its admirers have done, we get a more happy 
impression. For like the other Greek novels this one breaks up 
easily into a series of more or less independent scenes, which could 
be rearranged, added to or lessened without material import. These 
better scenes then, taken by themselves, are pleasing, but they 
are not simple, and though nearer nature than anything else in 
Greek fiction, it is nature drawn by a rhetorician, a man of more 
taste than his class but still a rhetorician. 

Chloe is first to fall in love, as is Virginia in the French novel. 
She sees Daphnis bathing. ‘‘ What it was she suffered, she knew 
not, being but a young maid, bred in the country and one that 
had never heard tell of the name of love. Sickness seized her 
soul, and she was not mistress of her eyes, and much she talked 
of Daphnis. Her meat she neglected; by night she waked; her 
flock she despised ; now she would laugh; now she would weep; 
then she would sleep ; then she would start up; her face was pale, 
and again it flamed with a blush; nor would a cow stung by a 
gadfly behave as Chloe did.” 

Daphnis and a shepherd boy called Dorco dispute as to their 
comparative charms, and Chloe awards the prize, a kiss, to Daphnis, 
who falls in love with her and does not understand it. Here is 
his soliloquy. 

“What can it be that Chloe’s kiss does to me? Lips softer 
than roses and a mouth sweeter than honey-combs; but the kiss 
than the sting of a bee more painful. Oft have I kissed kids, oft 
have I kissed puppies newly born and the calf Dorco gave me. 


374 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


But this kiss is strange; my breath leaps, my heart pants, my 
soul melts, and yet I would kiss again. O evil victory! O strange 
disease! whose very name I know not. ‘Then did Chloe taste 
of drugs ere she kissed me? how then did she not die? How do 
the nightingales sing, and my pipe is silent! How do the kids 
leap, and I sit still! how do the flowers bloom, and I weave no 
garlands! but the violets and the hyacinth flower, and Daphnis 
withers. Then will Dorco seem more comely than 1?” | 

All this is artificial in the highest degree, thoroughly rhetorical 
in every way. It is literary rather than spontaneous. The writer 
has read Theocritus and thinks of him, but his work is not Theo- 
critean, for he has been infected with the arts of the school. Here 
is the series of little sentences, word by word exactly balancing ; 
antithesis ; apostrophe and abundance of echoes and false conceits. 
Let us try something better. 

Winter came on and there was no more pasture in the open, 
but all the country folk were kept about their homes and farm 
buildings, so Daphnis and Chloe could not meet. Chloe was being 
taught to dress wool and use the spindle, but Daphnis had no such 
work to do and devised a plan to see her. 

“ Before the farmhouse of Dryas [her foster-father] and just 
under it were two tall myrtles and ivy upon them. The myrtles 
were near each other, the ivy between them, so that reaching its 
tendrils to both like a vine, it made an appearance of a cave with 
the alternating leaves; and clusters of ivy berries, many and big 
as grapes, hung from the branches. Round about them was a 
great swarm of winter birds, for food without failed—many a 
blackbird, many a thrush, and wood-pigeons, and starlings, and all 
other birds that eat ivy-berries. On pretence of catching these 
birds Daphnis set forth after filling his wallet with honey-cakes 
and taking bird-lime and snares as a pledge of his purpose. The 
distance was not more than ten stades, but the snow not yet 
melted gave him much trouble. But to love after all everything 
is an open way, fire and water and Scythian snow. 

“He comes then at a run to the farm, and shaking the snow 
from his legs he set his snares, and the bird-lime he smeared on 
many twigs, and then sat down thinking of the birds and of Chloe. 
But birds came in large numbers and were caught in plenty, so 
that he had no end of trouble in gathering them, killing them and 
plucking their feathers. But from the farm no one came out, not 
man, not woman, not domestic fowl, but all abode lying by the fire 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 375 


within, so that Daphnis was in sore straits, thinking they were 
not lucky birds that gave him the omen to come (a pun, οὐκ ἐπ᾽ 
αἰσίοις ὄρνισι). And he tried to gather courage to enter the doors 
with some excuse and sought in himself what would be most 
plausible. ‘I came to get fire; but were there not neighbours but 
a stade away? I came to ask loaves; but the wallet is full of 
food. I need wine; but it was yesterday or the day before you 
gathered the vintage. A wolf was chasing me; but where are the 
wolf’s footprints? I came to catch birds; why then, when you 
have caught them, do you not go away? I wish to see Chloe; 
but who confesses this to the father and mother of a maiden ? 
Every approach is vain; none of these but is suspicious. Better 
then be silent. I shall see Chloe in the spring, since it is 
not fated, so it seems, I should see her in the winter.’ With 
some such thought in his mind he gathered up what he had 
caught and started to go; and, as if Love pitied him, this 
befell. 

“Dryas and his household were sitting at table; meat had 
been divided, loaves were set before them, wine was being mixed. 
One of the sheep-dogs, watching for an unguarded moment, snatched 
a piece of meat and fled through the doors, In vexation Dryas 
(for it was his portion) caught up a stick and ran after him, 
tracking him like another dog; and as he .pursued and came to 
the ivy, he sees Daphnis with his booty on his shoulders and ready 
to depart. Meat and dog at once he forgot, and with a great 
shout, ‘Welcome, my boy,’ he began to embrace and kiss him 
and took him by the hand and led him in. When they saw each 
other they all but fell to the earth, but making an effort to 
stand upright they greeted and kissed each other, and this was 
as it were a prop that they should not fall. 

“So Daphnis, after giving up hope, had a kiss and had Chloe, 
and sat near the fire and put from his shoulders on to the table 
his burden of wood-pigeons and blackbirds, and told how he grew 
weary of staying at home and went out to catch them, and how 
he took some of them with snares and some with bird-lime in their 
greed for the myrtles and the ivy. And they praised his energy 
and bade him eat of what the dog had left them. And they 
bade Chloe pour wine to drink. And she in gladness gave to 
the others and to Daphnis after the others; for she pretended to 
be angry, because he came and was about to go without seeing 
her. However before giving it to him she took a sip, and then 


376 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


gave to him. And he though thirsty drank slowly, to have a 
longer pleasure by delay.” 

The author's failure is a moral one. At the end comes the 
general recognition and no one seems to attach much blame to 
the parents, who cast out their children because they had too many 
or were ill off for money. The general ignoring of evil of a gross 
kind shews how the rhetorician had fallen into that stage where 
evil results in insensibility. 

Let us now turn to Xanthippe and Polyzxena, a idl I incline 
to attribute to the fourth century, though the first scholar to print 
it, Dr M. R. James, says it may belong to the third. The story of 
the victory by the cross’ aid seems to suggest Constantine. It is 
the insigne lignum of triumph. The careful adhesion to “the 
straight and true faith” and the various theological expressions of 
it, though they do not refer to Arianism and its distinctive 
doctrines, yet suggest the great council. Some of the phrases 
describing other things also point to the later date 

The tale, as Dr James shews, borrows hints from a number of 
others, but it hangs together very well, if we once grant that each 
of the heroines has her own story. We do not hear of Polyxena 
till chapter 22 and then we hear little more of Xanthippe. There 
is about both parts a bright air, a spirit of cheerfulness and faith. 
The author cannot forget the goodness of God, His merey and 
His eagerness for the redemption of the sinful, His providence 
and care for those who serve Him. This last quite replaces the 
Fortune of the heathen novelists. At every stage the right man 
appears—not by accident but by divine instruction and guidance. 
The writer is like his heroine Xanthippe. “I wish to be silent, 
but I am compelled to speak, for one within me is fire and sweetness 
to me’.” And now a short sketch of the book. 

Probus is an official in Spain, a friend of Nero (though his 
name suggests the 4th century), an honourable man, very fond 
of his wife Xanthippe, though apt to be irritated by her abstraction 
and her sometimes rather hysterical piety. His wife, an anima 
naturaliter Christiana, hears of Paul’s preaching in Rome and 
longs for more knowledge of the Gospel. She is much disturbed, 
to her husband’s alarm, but after uttering some prayers, a little too 
neatly Christian for a heathen, she sees and hears Paul. The 
apostle is their guest and is heard joyfully by his hostess, who 


1 6, 14 φλέγει γάρ μέ τις ἔσωθεν Kal γλυκαίνει. 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 377 


has already “the sun of righteousness in her heart.” The host 
after a while is worried by the crowds who come to hear Paul, 
and, indignant at “my house being made an inn,” turns him out, 
and locks up his wife. She bribes the porter, visits Paul and is 
baptized, and on her return home has a vision of Christ preceded 
by a cross on the east wall of the room. But when she saw His 
face, she hid her own, crying, “ Hide thyself, Ὁ Master, from my 
bodily eyes and enlighten my understanding.” He vanishes, and 
overcome by a speechless gratitude she faints—the result of her 
fasting and watching and the vision. Meantime Probus has had 
a dream which turns him toward the faith, and he and his wife 
visit Paul, Probus being greatly impressed by her humility, which 
was rather a new virtue in her. He is baptized, and after a 
curious incident in which Xanthippe iu a rage stabs a supposed 
dancer (really a devil) in the face, their story gives place to that 
of her sister Polyxena. 

The story of Polyxena much more closely resembles those of 
the Greek novels. Probus’ house is entered by a man by means of 
magical arts, and Polyxena is kidnapped. The captor puts her on 
shipboard to sail to Babylonia. On the way they pass a ship taking 
St Peter to Rome to overthrow Simon Magus (a fragment of an old 
story), and Peter by divine warning is bidden pray for a soul in 
distress on the ship from the west, z.e. Polyxena. They land in 
Greece and meet Philip the evangelist, who rescues Polyxena and 
entrusts her to a disciple. The kidnapper gets an army of 8000: 
men from a friend of his, a Count (κόμης), to recapture her. She 
flies, and her late host’s thirty servants raising the sign of the cross 
slay 5000 of the Count’s army and return hymning God. Polyxena 
takes refuge in a lioness’ den—a hollow tree in a dense forest. The 
lioness however is friendly and guides her to a high road, where 
St Andrew finds her. She asks for baptism, and at the water they 
meet a Jewish girl Rebecca, and both maidens are at once baptized, 
for the lioness reappears and in a human voice bids instruct them 
in the true faith. Andrew leaves them, for it was not revealed to 
him that he should go with them. A man driving asses, who has 
_ sold his property and makes a mission of feeding the poor, of course 
a Christian, undertakes to bring the two girls to the sea-shore and 
_ aid them to escape to Spain. But they are carried off by a magis- 
trate. The ass-driver tells Philip, who trusts that heaven will 
preserve them. Once more Rebecca is seized and laments, like 
Xenophon’s heroine, “ Again am I a captive.” The magistrate’s son 


378 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


is a Christian, converted by Paul and Thecla at Antioch, and he 
befriends Polyxena. In a rage his father exposes him and her to a 
lioness, who proves to be the old friend. This causes a great 
sensation and the magistrate is converted. Onesimus (the teller of 
the tale) appears and preaches, and everybody there is converted. 
Polyxena and Rebecca are sent safely back to Spain, where they are 
welcomed warmly by Xanthippe, Probus and Paul. The kidnapper 
reappears also, but he too is converted. So all ends happily. 

It will be recognized that there is much here very like the 
Greek novel—kidnappings, surprising deliverances, magic and the 
wonderful lioness. The last suggests Androcles, but is probably a 
combination of the beasts that will not destroy Thecla (in the Acts 
of Paul and Thecla) and the speaking ass ‘‘descended from 
Balaam’s” (in the Acts of Thomas).. There is however a clear 
difference between this Christian work and the heathen models, for 
the heroine’s virginity is the expression of a definite faith and 
service, and also there is nothing in the tale that could be called 
foul, as there is in every (or nearly every) Greek novel. In all 
probability the book was designed to supplant such stories. It was 
not the first Christian novel to borrow a framework from the enemy. 
The Clementine Homilies lie outside our present scope, but a word or 
two may be given them. They form one of the most interesting 
books of early Christianity, for they are in reality an early attack on 
Paulinism, and Baur and his school have tried to find in them a 
true presentation of Christianity properly so called. Peter is their 
hero and Clement is (one may say) his squire, and together they 
hunt down Simon Magus and other heathen antagonists. ΤῸ give 
the story a flavour of life, Clement is represented as in search of his 
family, who are all scattered by a series of accidents recalling the 
Greek novel, and who are all found again by the help of Peter and 
Providence. 

From Xanthippe and Polyxena we pass to a work of more 
importance—a work of genius. It is now embedded in the so-called 
Gospel of Nicodemus, a 13th century title for a combination of two 
much older books, the Acts of Pilate and the Descent into Hell. 
The former is a rather tiresome expansion of the Gospel narrative of 
the Crucifixion, resulting in the “whitewashing” of Pilate to some 
extent, and the latter is attached to it by a very simple device. 
Two of the dead, who were raised from their graves in the com- 
motion following the Crucifixion, are called on to give an account 
of what happened. ‘They said to the chief priests, Give us paper 


~ 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 379 


and ink and pen. They brought them, and sitting down one of 
them wrote as follows.” Here is given the second work, which 
I will quote in part, taking the Greek text of Thilo. This story is. 
- dated somewhere about or a little after the year 400; Maury, 
followed by Renan, placing it between 405 and 420. Tischendorf 
puts it a good -deal earlier. Chassang compares its opening to 
Virgil’s 

Di quibus imperium est animarum wmbraeque silentes, 

et Chaos et Phlegethon, loca nocte tacentia late, 


sit mihi fas audita loqui, sit numine vestro 
pandere res alta terra et caligine mersas, 


(Aen. vi. 2641) 

“Lord Jesus Christ, the resurrection and the life of the world, 
give us grace that we may tell of thy resurrection and the marvels 
thou didst work in Hades. We then were in Hades with all that 
have slept from the beginning, and in the hour of midnight into 
that darkness dawned as it were the light of the sun and shone, 
and we were all enlightened and saw one another.” Adam and 
Isaiah recognize the light as prophesied, and then comes John, 
‘fan ascetic from the desert,” once more to be forerunner of Christ. 
Adam and Seth contribute their testimony, and ‘‘the patriarchs 
and the prophets rejoiced greatly.” 

“And while they thus rejoiced, came Satan, heir of darkness, 
and saith to Hades, ‘All-devouring and insatiate, hear my words. 
A certain man of the race of the Jews, called Jesus, naming himself 
Son of God, he being in fact a man,—through my aid the Jews 
crucified him. And now that he is dead, be thou ready that we 
may hold him fast. For I know that he is a man, and I heard him 
say ‘My soul is exceeding sorrowful unto death.’ He did me 
much evil in the world above when he lived among men; for where- 
ever he found my servants he drove them out, and as many men as 
I made maimed, blind, lame, leprous or any such thing, by a word 
alone he healed them. And when I had made many ready to be 
buried, these too he brought to life by a word.’ Then Hades saith, 
‘And is he so mighty as to do all this by a word? And how canst 
thou resist him if he is such?’” Hades doubts the wisdom of 


1 An almost contemporary parallel would be Claudian’s overture to his Rape 
of Proserpine (R. P. i. 20) di quibus innumerum vacui famulatur Averni | vulgus 
imers...... vos mihi sacrarum penetralia pandite rerum, etc. His account of Pros- 
erpine’s descent into hell (ii. 326 f.) has one or two coincidences with this book 
—pallida laetatur regio—rumpunt insoliti tenebrosa silentia cantus—aeternam 
patitur rarescere noctem, but with a few such phrases the likeness ends. 


380 127}ὲ. and Letters in the Fourth Century 


Satan’s bringing him. ‘‘And this I say to thee, by the darkness we 
have, that if thou bring him here, none of the dead will be left me.’ 

“ As thus Satan and Hades talked one with the other, there was 
a great voice as thunder that said, ‘Open your gates, ye rulers, and 
be ye lifted up, ye everlasting gates, and the king of glory shall 
come in.’ And when Hades heard, he saith to Satan, ‘Go forth, if 
thou canst, and withstand him.’ So Satan went out. Then saith 
Hades to his demons, ‘Make fast well and strongly the gates of 
brass and the bars of iron, and hold my barriers, and watch, standing 
all of you erect; for if he enter here, woe shall overtake us.’ When 
they heard this the forefathers all began to mock him; ‘All- 
devouring and insatiate Hades, open, that the king of glory may 
come in’...And when Hades heard the voice the second time, as if 
he knew not, he answered and said, ‘Who is this king of glory?’ 
The angels of the Lord say, ‘A Lord strong and mighty, a Lord 
mighty in war.’ And immediately at this word the gates of brass 
were broken, and the iron bars were shattered, and all the bounden 
dead were loosed from their bonds and we with them. And the 
king of glory came in, as it were a man, and all the dark places of 
Hades were enlightened.” 

Hades recognizes in the conqueror the Jesus who was nailed to 
the cross, and the arch-satrap Satan is bound in iron and delivered 
to Hades to be kept till the second coming—not without the taunts 
of Hades himself. : 

“The king of glory stretched forth his right hand, and laid hold 
of our forefather Adam, and raised him up. Then he turned and to 
the rest he said, ‘Come ye with me, all ye who have been slain by 
the tree of wood this man touched, for behold! again by the wood 
of the cross I raise you all up.’ And with this he put them forth. 
And our forefather Adam was filled with sweetness and he said, 
‘I give thanks unto thy majesty, O Lord, that thou hast brought 
me up from the lowest Hades.’ So did all the prophets and the 
saints, and said, ‘We give thee thanks, O Christ, the Saviour of the 
universe, that thou hast brought up our life from destruction.’ 
While thus they spake, the Saviour blessed Adam on the brow with 
the sign of the cross, and this he did to the patriarchs and prophets 
and martyrs and forefathers, and he took them and leapt forth from 
Hades. And as he went, the holy fathers followed and sang, 
‘Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord; Alleluia! this 
is the glory of all the saints.’ 

“ And as he entered into Paradise, holding our forefather Adam 


| 


Greck and Early Christian Novels 381 


by the hand, he gave him and all the righteous to the archangel 
Michael. As they entered in at the door of Paradise, there met them 
two old men, to whom the holy fathers said, ‘Who are ye, who saw 
not death nor descended into Hades, but in your bodies and souls 
inhabit Paradise?’ And one of them answered and said, ‘I am 
Enoch, who pleased God and was translated by him, and this is 
Elijah the Tishbite; and we shall live till the end of the world, and 
then shall we be sent of God to resist Antichrist, and be slain by 
him, and after three days rise and be caught up to the clouds to 
meet the Lord.’ 

“And as thus they spake, there came another, a mean wan, 
bearing upon his shoulders a cross, to whom the holy fathers said, 
‘Who art thou, that hast the look of a thief, and what the cross thou 
bearest on thy shoulders?’ He answered, ‘I was, as ye see, a thief 
and a robber in the world, and therefore for this the Jews delivered 
me to the death of the cross with our Lord Jesus Christ. As he 
hung on the cross, I saw the signs that befell, and I cried to him and 
said; Lord, when thou art king, forget not me. And immediately 
he said to me; Verily, verily, to-day, I say unto thee, with me shalt 
thou be in Paradise. So bearing my cross I came to Paradise and 
found the archangel Michael and said to him; Our Lord Jesus the 
crucified sent me hither; bring me in at the gate of Eden. And 
when the fiery sword saw the sign of the cross, it opened to me, and 
Icamein. ‘Then said the Archangel to me: Wait a little, for there 
cometh Adam the forefather of the race with the just, that they too 
may enter in. And when I saw you | came to meet you.’ When 
they heard this, the saints cried with a loud voice, ‘Great is our 
Lord and great is his might.’ 

“ All this we two brothers saw and heard.” 

This story is not the creation of the fourth century, and perhaps 
even this rendering of it is older, but that it was in the minds of 
men is shewn by the hymns of Ephraem the Syrian, of Prudentius 
and of Synesius', if by nothing else. There is a vigour about this 
piece and an imagination, which rise to higher levels than the Greek 
world dared now to attempt. And yet there is still to be felt in it 
that quiet happiness, which Augustine recognized as the mark of the 
Church”. There is no exaggeration, no rhetoric, but the work is as 
simple as it is sublime. : 


1 Prudentius, Cath. ix. 70—105; Synesius, Hymn ix. the translation of 
which by Mrs Browning is quoted on Ὁ. 355; Ephraem, Carmina Nisibena, 
xxxvi. 11, 12. 

2 Conf. viii. 11, 27 non dissolute hilaris. 


382 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


We pass now to a book intrinsically of less interest but yet 
one which, Dr James says’, has left traces of its influence in nearly 
all the medieval apocalypses and even in Dante’s Divina Commedia. 
Its own account of itself is this. “A certain man of repute dwelt 
in Tarsus in the house of the holy Paul in the consulship of the 
pious king Theodosius and Gratian the clarissimus [in the Latin he 
is Cynegius], and to him an angel of the Lord appeared saying, 
‘Break down the foundation of this house and take up what thou 
shalt find.” And he thought it was a dream. But when the angel 
continued till a third vision, the man of repute was compelled to 
break down the foundation, and he dug and found a marble chest 
containing this apocalypse, etc.” 

The historian Sozomen (vii. 19, 34) can add to this. “The 
apocalypse of Paul the Apostle, as nowadays circulated, though none 
of the ancients ever saw it, a great many monks praise. Some 
maintain this book was found in the present reign. For they say 
that by divine revelation in Tarsus of Cilicia, at the house of Paul, 
a marble chest was found under the earth and the book was in it. 
When I asked about it, a Cilician priest of the church in Tarsus 
said it was a lie—he was an old man too as his white hair shewed, 
and he said he knew of nothing of the kind occurring among them, 
and he would be astonished if it were not the invention of heretics. 
So much about that.” 
Two things should be noted. A new discovery, especially if led 
to by some miracle, is a fairly safe index of a forgery. Sozomen’s 
reference to the monks fits in well with the tone of the book. 
We may therefore conclude it was written in the reign of the 
younger Theodosius and one of its objects was to help mo- 
nachism. 

The feigned Paul then tells how sun, moon and sea appeal for 
leave to destroy sinful man, but God’s patience protects. the race, 
for which he is to be praised, and especially at sunset. For then 
the angels come before God to report the works of mankind, and of 
them all those are most joyful and most bright, who say, ““We come 
from those who have renounced the world and the things of the 
world for thy holy name’s sake, who spend their lives in deserts and 
mountains and caves and dens of the earth, sleeping on the ground 
and fasting—Bid us be with them.” Some come with sorrow “from 
those who are called by thy name and serve sinful matter.” By 


1 Lecture on Apocalypse of Peter, Dec. 1892. 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 383 


every man’s death-bed stand angels, good and bad’, and to the 
sinner the bad say “Unhappy soul, look to thy flesh; know whence 
thou comest out; for thou must return to thy flesh on the day of 
resurrection, to receive the reward of thy sins.” An appalling 
picture of the soul’s trial follows, when, after being confronted with 
the souls it has wronged, it is cast into outer darkness. 

Paul is now taken to the city of the just, meeting Enoch and 
other patriarchs and prophets, and seeing rivers of honey, milk, oil 
and wine for the just who in this world abjured the use of them 
and humbled themselves for God’s sake. David too is seen, his face 
. shining as the sun, while he holds in his hand psaltery and harp 
and sweetly sings AJdl/eluia till his voice fills the city. And what 
means Alleluia? In Hebrew it is thebel marematha [in the Latin 
version : tecel cat marith macha), ‘let us glorify him together.’ 

Paul now visits hell, and sees the various torments of various 
sinners. ‘There seems to be no descending scale of misery, but the 
tortures exist side by side. Let us only notice those who talked in 
church, and (for the sake of Longus) women who destroyed their 
children, and lastly the priest ‘“‘who ate and drank and then served 
God,” the bishop who judged unjustly and pitied neither widow nor 
orphan, and the deacon “who ate and drank and then ministered to 
God.” Paul weeps, and then, in response to his entreaty and 
Gabriel’s, respite on Sundays is granted to the wicked in hell. 

Now Paul visits Paradise and receives the blessing of the Virgin 
and the lament of Moses for the people of Israel. He meets the 
three great prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, and Noah, who 
was a model of asceticism while he was building the ark. Then 
with the appearance of Elijah and Enoch the apocalypse abruptly 
ends in the middle of Elijah’s address to Paul. 

This apocalypse is modelled in part on the much earlier apocalypse 
of Peter, with which it shews some close coincidences. It no doubt 
impressed the minds of some of its readers, for this kind of revelation 
seems always to be more or less popular, succeeding better in, its 
descriptions of hell than of heaven and thereby emphasizing some 
obvious morals. Dr James says indeed that we may owe some even 
of the present-day ideas of heaven and hell to the apocalypse of 
Peter, and in this case Paul has perhaps contributed too. But the 


ΟἹ A somewhat similar scene according to the Manichaeans, with a god of light 
and the devil of greed and lust, each with his attendants. See Fliigel, Mani, 
seine Lehre u. Leben, p. 100. 


384 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


book is in any case far inferior to the one we treated before it and 
to the one that follows. “So much about that.” 

It has been demonstrated in recent years that the Life of 
Antony is a work of fiction. I need not here go over Weingarten’s 
arguments’, but when once his result is accepted the book becomes 
much more intelligible. Of all books of the fourth century it had 
the most immediate and widespread influence, which, though out- 
grown by now, lasted on to the Renaissance. It was fiction as 
Uncle Tom's Cabin was fiction, and just as this American book, 
though perhaps not a work of the highest art and certainly denounced 
in no measured terms by people of the slave-holding States as a 
fabric of lies, yet swept America and England and, wakening the 
public conscience, contributed to the freedom of the negro, so the 
Life of Antony came at the right moment, and roused the hearts 
of good men and women to a sense of the possibilities of a life 
surrendered to God and dependent on His grace. 

There was in the fourth century a great feeling of dissatisfaction 
with the world and even with the Church’. Life was difficult and 
the churches were not of the greatest possible aid. Then monachism 
began to suggest itself to the minds of Christians as a way of 
escape from an evil world and of approach to God. The movement 
was immensely helped by this Life of Antony, a book which displays 
the triumphs which a simple unlettered monk, trusting in the grace 
of God, wins over evil in every form. It is hardly a work of art, 
it is in some places a little tedious, it is often very impossible and 
sometimes even absurd. Yet it succeeded and deserved to succeed. 
It was constructed with some thought, if not of the finest. More 
than one Puritan movement had been unfortunately wrecked, 
because its leaders quarrelled with the authorities of the Church. 
Our author is careful to make Antony most respectful to bishop and 
presbyter (c. 67), yielding precedence to every cleric. Again, he 
wrote in the thick of the fight with Arianism, and between this 
heresy and monachism there was mutual hatred®*. So Antony is 
exhibited to us as going to Alexandria and there, though an un- 
educated Copt who could not speak Greek, frustrating the Arian with 
tremendous effect. And more, the battle was not yet over and 


1 See Herzog’s Realencyklopiidie, vol. x. on Monasticism, A. ὃ m1., and Prof. 
Gwatkin, Studies of Arianism, Note B. p. 98. 

2 See Jerome, Ep. vii. 5, on his discontent with the bishop of his native place 
—ut perforatam navem debilis gubernator regat—, and above all the writings of 
Sulpicius Severus. 

3. See Hatch’s Bampton Lectures, vi. p. 162. 


Greek and Early Christian Novels 385 


Antony is represented as already dead, yet before he died he 
prophesied the troubles which the Church is even now enduring, and 
from which he foresaw her triumphant emergence. 

The book is Puritan. Antony was a mere layman, and for long 
years he neither went to Church nor saw priest nor took sacrament, 
and yet lived in close contact with heaven. His ambition was, like 
that of Francis of Assisi, to follow the Saviour and live a life of 
evangelic poverty (Mt. xix. 21). Indeed to understand him one 
must understand Francis—the real Francis as M. Sabatier draws 
him. He had no need of books; to him as to Francis “it was given 
to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but unto others in 
parables.” 

Like nearly every one else our author believed in devils, but not 
as they did. For one great part of Antony’s work is to prove finally 
that the devil is the most futile of beings. The troops of hell may 
play all their pranks as they please, but at the sign of the cross 
they vanish. ‘For the Lord worked with him, He who wore flesh 
for us and gave to the body the victory over the devil, so that of 
those who strive in deed every one may say ‘Yet not I, but the 
grace of God that is in me’” (c. 5). Once the devils flogged him 
but he prayed. “After his prayer he said with a loud voice, ‘Here 
am 1, Antony; I fly not your blows. For though add ye more also, 
nothing shall separate me from the love of Christ.’ And then he 
sang, ‘Though an host should encamp against me, my heart will 
not fear.’” So the enemy for the time left him. Thus the effect 
of the book was distinctly to lessen and not to increase the attention 
paid to devils and demons. Antony is made to deliver a long 
homily (cc. 16—43) about them, explaining what they seem to do 
on the lines followed long ago by Apuleius and Tertullian, and 
emphasizing their insignificance. 

Of course he wrought miracles and was generally benevolent and 
helpful. Not even the notice of the Emperor elated-him. In fact 
every virtue the writer could think of he gave him. "Ὁ one point 
I should like to call attention. The author gives Antony that 
peculiar and happy expression we associate to-day with a strong 
and active belief in the doctrine of grace. ‘From the joy of his 
soul, his face too was bright...he was never disturbed, for his soul 
was at peace; he was never gloomy, for his mind rejoiced” (c. 67)’. 

1 Sulpicius says the same of St Martin—caelestem quodammodo laetitiam 
vultu praeferens; v. Mart. 27—and I have no doubt this expression did mark off 


many of the brighter spirits of monachism from a world, which the thought of 
the present must have made gloomy. 


G. ἴ 25 


386 Life and Letters in the Fourth Century 


It should not be hard to understand the influence of the book. 
It was widely read and imitated. Jerome’s Life of Paul is a copy 
of it—a wretched, rhetorical, soulless imitation of a great book. 
Very soon it was actually attributed to Athanasius, who had the 
credit of it till Weingarten reclaimed it for its anonymous author. 

Of its effect on thoughtful people we have a striking illustration 
in St Augustine. He tells us he had reached a more or less 
satisfactory solution of his doubts, and now ‘“‘desired to be not 
more certain about Thee, but more stable in Thee” (Con/f. viii. 1, 1), 
and while he hesitated to commit himself to the Christian life as he 
now saw it should be, he heard the story of Antony for the first 
time. He was profoundly thoved by the contrast between this 
ignorant man’s achievement of holiness and the low level with which 
he himself for all his learning was content. Then resolving to try a 
sors Biblica, suggested by the episode of Antony hearing the text 
“Tf thou wilt be perfect, go and sell all that thou hast and give to 
the poor, and come, follow me,” he opened at the text in Romans 
which struck home’. The great point to notice here is that the 
essence of the book is that doctrine which Augustine, by his own 
experience, was being led to make the centre of his faith and 
teaching—the doctrine of grace. 

Here ends our study of the novels. In their own way they 
reflect their age, the over-elaboration and sterility of style, the 
failure of civic ideals, the growing individualism, and something of 
the new life still struggling for expression in the Church. 


1 Conf. viii. 6, 14 ff. and 12,29. See pp. 214—5. 


"» 


INDEX 


Abgar of Edessa, 23, 141, 142; his 
correspondence with our Lord, 24, 
142 n.1, 143. 

Achilles in romance, 359, and Penthe- 
silea, 87, and Polyxena, 100. 

Achilles Tatius, 330, 365, 370-372. 

Acts of Paul and Thecla, 378. 

Acts of Philip, 369. 

Acts of Pilate, 378. 

Acts of Thomas, 142, 370, 378. 

Acts of Xanthippe and Polyzena, 370, 
376-8. 

Addai, Doctrine of, 23, 141, 142. 

Adeodatus, 199, 215. 

Adoxography, 342. 

Adrianople, battle of, 7, 37, 249, 327 


ῃ. 1, 
Afrahat, 3, 236. 
Agapetae, 299. 
Ajax in Quintus, 87, 88; 
Alaric, 228, 238, 239. 
Alexander the Great, effect of his con- 
quests, 11; in novels, 360, 368,°370; 
his nose, 130 n. 4. 
Alexander, an cane pilgrim, 126. 
Allegory, 75, 
Amarantus, “πω sea-captain, 330- 
334, 
Ambrose, 121, 153-155, 164, 208, 209, 
215, 249, 258, 270, 271, 292, 293. 
Amid, 25 ἢ. 2; siege of, 25-28. 
Ammianus, see chapter ii. passim. 
an Antiochene, 20, 71 n. 1, 72 n. 3; 
his character, 11, 45; 
his truthfulness, 39, δ; 
his birth, 20; 
his education, 32; Sitaphtion for 
Cicero, 32; 
in the army under Ursicinus, 21; 
in affair of Silvanus, 22; 
adventures in campaign of 359, 


> 24, 25; 
at siege of Amid, 25-28; 


in Ovid, 88. - 


Ammianus: 

his escape, 28; 

campaign with Julian in East, 28; 

with Julian at his death, 29; 

his indignation at Jovian, 29; 

his travels, 30; 

in Rome, 30, 43, 148; 

in Antioch, 30, 371; 

his views on treason, 31; 

his History, 31, 218; its excellence, 
34; its variety, 35, 36; 

his death uncertain, 32; 

his style, 33; 

the danger of correcting him, 35 n.1, 

os ak Oe 

his attitude toward Empire, 31, 37; 

his sympathies, 38 ; 

his antipathies, 38 n. 3, 44; 

his religion, 38, 42 n.4; he finds 
Julian religious overmuch, 56, 
phe 

his view of Nemesis, 38, 39; 

his attitude toward Christianity, 
40-42 ; 

his view of martyrs, 41; of bishops, 
41; of theological controversy, 
41, 42, 56; 

his preference for toleration, 42 ; 

his humour, 42, 43; 

on the murder of the Goths, 327 


1 age ΠΡῚ 

Andromeda, 133. 
Andronicus, governor of Cyrenaica, 

351, 352. 
Anthology, Greek, 309. 
Anthropomorphism, 202. 
Antichrists, etc., 297, 298. 
Antioch, 71. 
Antiochus Epiphanes, 2 
Anti-pagan legislation, 69. 
Antiquarianism, 177. 
Antony, Life of, 18, 214, 370, 384-6. 
Apocalypse of Gaul, 370. 


25—2 


388 


Apollinaris, father and son, 69, 86. 
Apollonius of Tyana, 136, 162 n. 2, 361. 
Apuleius, 12, 243, 244, 306-9, 364 n. 2, 
385. 
Aquitaine, 134, 
Arbogast, Frankish general, 121, 157, 
270, 271. 
Arcadius, 217, 324-327, 329. 
Archilochus, 345. 
Architecture, 9. 
Arianism, 17, 42, 109. 
Aristotle, 32, 151, 154, 204, 337. 
Army and marriage, 8. 
Art, 9, 257. 
Asceticism, 
not properly a doctrine of Neo- 
Platonism, 14, but often went 
with it, 14, 18; 
Christian asceticism, 18, 127, 382, 
383 ; 
Manichaean, 201, 203; 
monks of Serapis, 279; 
Synesius on, 341. 
Astrology, 187 n. 2, 205, 206. 
Astronomy, 187, 205, 
Athanasius, 42, 67. 
Athens, 52 n. 4, 337, 338. 
Attusia Sabina, wife of Ausonius, 105, 
113. 

Auguries, 39, 87, 187 ἢ. 2. 
Augustine, see chapter ix. passim. 
sums up his age in himself, 18; 

his influence in history, 194; 

his openness to impression, 185, 
195 ; 

his truthfulness, 195 ; 

his philosophy tested by experience, 
195, 196, 213 n. 1; 

his search for truth and certainty, 
195, 248, 338, 339; 

his self-analysis, 195; 

his affectionate nature, 196, 199 n. 1; 

his birth, 197 ; 

his parents and their influence on 
him, 146, 147, 197-199, 203, 204, 
215; see also Monnica; 

his education, 198; 

his love of Virgil, 108, 184, 198; 

student at Carthage, 198 ; 

his irregular life, 199; not so bad 
as supposed, 199, 252; 

his son, 199, 215; 

reads Cicero’s Hortensius, 185, 199; 

becomes interested in philosophy, 


his materialism, 204, 210, 261; 

becomes a Manichaean, 200; 

his reasons for so doing, 202, 203 ; 

teacher of rhetoric in Thagaste, 
204; 

death of a friend, 204; 

teacher in Carthage, 204 ; 


Index 


Augustine : 
reads Aristotle, 204; 
repudiates use of magic, 205, 340n. 2; 
studies astronomy, 205; 
finds Manichaeanism unsatisfactory 
in its science, 205; and in its 
morals, 207; 
his conviction of sin, 207; 
his fear of future judgment, 207, 
210; 
his first book, 207, 218; 
goes to Rome, 207; and thence to 
Milan, recommended by Sym- 
machus, 108, 156, 208; 
effect of his years in Manichaeanism, 
208 ; 
his scepticism of short duration, 
195, 208; 
meets Ambrose and hears him 
preach, 209; 
impressed by Ambrose’s allegoric 
method, 209; 
becomes a catechumen, 209; 
episode of the drunken beggar, 210 ; 
dismisses his mistress, 210; 
gets rid of his materialistic view of 
God by means of Neo-Platonism 
and begins to understand nature 
of evil, 193, 211, 212; 
finds out his moral weakness, 213 ; 
his criticism of Neo-Platonism, 192, 
212, 213, 348; 
accepts doctrine of Incarnation, 213, 
214; 
accepts authority of Church, 214; 
effect of Life of Antony on him, 
214, 215; 
leaves Milan, 215; 
the discussions at Cassisiacum, 147, 
174, 215; ‘i 
his baptism, 215; 
keynote of his Confessions, 215; 
on Scriptures, 195 n. 1, 200, 276; 
uneasy about celebration of martyrs, 
264; 
criticism of Trismegistus, 348 n. 1; 
his use of philosophical language, 
349 n. 1; 
his love of quiet life, 350 n. 1; 
doctrine of opacitas auctoritatis, 350, 
n, 8, 861 η. 1; 
on gladness of Christianity, 351 n. 2. 
Aurelian, 231, 324, 327, 328. 
Ausonius, see chapter v. passim. 
Gibbon’s judgment on him, 102; 
judgment. of his friends, 102, 117; 
nature of his poetry, 103; 
his family and his tributes to them, 
103, 113; 
his father, 104, 114; 
born at Bordeaux, 310 a.p. 104; 
his education, 104; 


Index 


Ausonius : 
his letter to grandson on going to 
school, 107; 
his relations with his pupils, 107, 
114; 
his Ephemeris, 109; 
his attitude towards Christianity, 
109, 114-115, 254; 
contrasted with Prudentius, 110; 
his teachers, 110-112, 177; 
his epigrams, 113; 
his wife, 113; her death, 113; 
his children and their names, 114; 
what did he do in Julian’s reign? 
114; 
Valentinian makes him tutor to 
Gratian, 102, 115; 
his Moselle, 115-117; 
his Cento, 115; 
his ‘‘itch for scribbling” and its 
products, 115, 117; 
his lists, 116; 
his treatment of nature, 116; 
his advancement by Gratian, 117; 
his influence on legislation, 117; 
part of his work fell to his son 
Hesperius, 118; 
consul, 119; 
his gratiarum actio, 120; 
his letters, 122 ; 
his correspondence with Paulinus, 
122-124, 
Authority in philosophy and religion, 
205, 
αὐτός, 99. 


Baldness, praise of, 342. 
‘ Banting,” 159. 
Baptism, 75, 199. 
Barritus, 36. 
Battus, 320. 
Bauto, 164. 
Bears, 161. 
Beasts and beast-catching, 4, 161, 162, 
235; duty on beasts, 161. 
Bessarion, Cardinal, 78. 
Bethlehem, 126, 129, 133, 135. 
Bible, not appreciated by literary men, 
48, 51, 200, 271 n. 1, 276. 
quoted by Longinus, 51. 
Sortes Biblicae, 215, 282, 386. 
Bishops in the 4th century, 41, 281, 
299, 349, 383. 
Boethius 12, 150, see notes on pp. 
186, 187, 190, 227. 
Bordeaux, University of, see Educa- 
_ tion. 
Bordeaux pilgrim, 
his date and route, 135, 136. 
why did he not see the Cross? 140, 
141, 
Brigands, 167. 


389 


Britain, 121 n. 3, 143, 239, 300. 

Bruce, Robt. and Alexander the Great, 
360. 

Buddha, 65. 

Burning bush, 139. 


Calaber, origin of name as applied to 
Quintus, 78. 
Calendar, 178. 
Callisthenes, the false, 360. 
Caracalla, 15. 
Cassisiacum, 147, 174, 215. 
Catacombs, 263. 
Cataphracts, 26, 278, 
Catullus, 113, 304. 
Celibacy, 8, 18, 127, 128, 201, 210, 341. 
Celts and Greek, 218, 300. 
Centos, 115, 144-146, 
Chi and Kappa, 56. 
Christianity, its gladness, 282, 286, 
303, 351, 376, 381, 385. 
Christians and heathen literature, 68, 
86, 251, 287. 
Chrysostom, 324, 325, 347, 351. 
on pilgrimages, 143. 
Church: its relations to Empire, 16; 
effect of toleration on, 17, 250, 280, 
316; its quarrels, 41; 
dissatisfaction of Christians with, 
18, 281, 293, 294, 299, 384. 
Cicero, his Dream of Scipio, 186. 
his Hortensius, 185, 199; his letters, 
149. 
his poem, 148. 
much cited by Ammianus, 32. 
Claudian, see chapter x. passim. 
his Egyptian origin, 217, 218 ; 
was he Greek or Latin? 218; 
his Greek poetry, 218 ; 
first published Latin poetry in 395 
A.D., 218-9; 
excellence of his language, 219; 
attaches himself to Stilicho, 219, 
229 ; 
his marriage, 219; 
an exponent of views of Roman 
society, 219 ; 
receives compliment of a statue, 
220; 
the story of “Hadrian,” 220; 
as panegyrist, 221-230; 
his panegyric to sons "of Probus, 
222-225 ; 
his personification of Rome, 223; 
his method in poetry, 224, 245; 
panegyric to Honorius, 225; 
address on kingship, 227 ; 
his invectives, 230-232 ; 
᾿ his views on Roman policy, 226-8, 
232; 
his rhetoric, 231; his lists, 234; 
his views on Providence, 231, 328 ; 


390 


Claudian : 
his pictures of Hell, 232, 246; 
his treatment of Latin hexameter, 
233, 234; 
influence of earlier poets on him, 
233, 234; 
exaggeration, 234, 235; 
his similes, 235 ; 
his love of Rome, 230, 236-240, 255; 
his dislike of Constantinople, 232, 
239, 240; 
his adherence to old religion, 240- 
244, 248; 
his use of the gods in poetry, 240 ; 
his attitude toward Christianity not 
indifference but hostility, 240, 
241; 
did he know Scripture? 241, 242; 
his Rape of Proserpine, 244-248 ; 
his treatment of nature, 245 ; 
conclusion, 248 ; 
contrasted with Prudentius, 255, 
273 ; 
his use of Virgil, 233. 
Clementine Recognitions, 134, 342 n..1, 
378. 
Colluthus, 86. 
Commodian, 253. τω 
Concubinage, 199. 
Constantina, wife of Gallus, and saint, 


Constantine, 7, 324; his character, 
62, 75 n. 1; his humour, 72 n. 3; 
and the Church, 16, 17, 42, 49. 

legislates for schools, 107. 

the ‘‘seed of Constantine,” 49. 
Constantinople, 7, 232, 237, 239, 240, 

324, 329. 

Constantius, 21, and the chamberlain 
Eusebius, 23. 

~ his visit to Rome, 43, 155, 269; his 
theology, 41, 49, 56; 

his murder of his family, 45, 49, 56; 
endows University at Athens, 52 n.4. 

Consulship, 119, 120, 223. 

Cosmetics, 128, 133. 

Cross, its invention, 140, 141; frag- 

ments of it, 130, 285. 

Cross, in Prudentius, 254, 265, 266. 

Cross, sign of the, 266, 370, 377. 

Cyprian, 16, 108, 250, 253, 255 n. 1, 

261, 267, 296. 

Cyrene, see chapter xiv.: esp. 320-322, 

Cyril, bp of Alexandria, 317, 818, 

Cyril, bp of Jerusalem, 140, 


Damasus, 9, 41, 132, 153, 155, 279, 
292, and Praetextatus, 163, 250 n.1, 
and the Catacombs, 253, 261, 263, 
281 n. 1. : 

Daphnis and Chloe, 84 n, 3, 335, 357, 
358, 372-376. 


Index 


Decline in morals, 4, 

Deidamia, 93, 94. 

Descent into Hell, 246, 266, 267, 355, 
378-381. 

Dialogues, 173, 288. 

Diatessaron, 24. 

Dido, 184, 198, 251. 

Dio Cassius, 108, 130 n. 4. 

Dio Chrysostom, 325 n. 2, 335 n. 1, 
n. 2, 339, 342, 346 n. 1, 364, 373. 
Diocletian moulds himself on Mareus, 

54 n. 5; 
his character, 6 ἢ, 1; 
his policy, 6, 117, 221; 
his persecution of the Church, 16; 
effect of his reforms of Empire, 
221. 
Disraeli and Claudian, 225 n.1, 230 
n. 2, 235 n. 2. 
Dogs, 320, 342, 350; Scottish, 161. 
Donatism, 66; and the Moors, 152. 
Dreams, Neo-Platonists on, 187, 341, 
342, 
Monnica’s dreams, 146, 204, 342. 
Dream of Scipio, 186. 
Drowning, 333. 
Druids, 110. 


Edessa, 23, 142. 

Education in Roman Empire (see esp. 
chapters on Ausonius, Macrobius, 
and Augustine, v. viii. ix.). 

old-time education at Rome, 105; 
subjects of study in schools of 
Empire, 108, 251; ᾿ 

philosophy, 105, 150; 

rhetoric, 105, 151; 

Christian view of rhetoric, 252; 

grammar, 105; 

Virgil in schools, 107, 251, 276; 

Greek, 111, 150, 160, 260 n. 1; 

position of teachers, 105, 106; legis- 
lated for by Government, 107 ; 

schools, 106-108 ; 

school discipline, 107, 198, 251, 251 
n. 2; 

schoolmasters, 106, 185; how ap- 
pointed, 108 ; 

universities, 106 ; 

professors, 106, 110-112, 165; 

position of professors in society, 
121, 165; 

their salaries, 106, 165; 

students, 112, 198, 207, 208; 

university of Alexandria, 323, 338 ; 

university of Athens, 52, 106, 112, 
338 ; 

university of Berytus, 3; 

university of Bordeaux, 110-112; 

university of Carthage, 198, 207 ; 

university of Constantinople, 106 ; 

university of Rome, 106, 112, 208; 


Index 


Education in Roman Empire: 
heathen character of education, 68, 
108, 112; 
practical joking in universities, 112, 
199, 207 
teachers’ ‘union,’ 112; 
Julian’s schools decree, 68, 69, 86, 
108, 114, 
Egypt, where lovers always go, 126, 
366. 


Elephants, 26, 28, 235. 

Elvira, Synod of, 250 n. 1, 262 ἡ. 1, 
299 n. 4. 

Embroidery, 9, 129, 184. 

Enoch, 360, 363. 

Ephraem, the Syrian, 142, 381. 

Epicureans, 11; hated by Neo-Plato- 
nists, 64, 188. 

Er the Armenian, 186, 188, 360. 

Etymology, 177, 339. 

Eucherius, son of Stilicho, 229, 

Eudoxia, Empress, 324. 

Eugenius, Professor and Emperor, 121, 
157, 165, 226, 270. 

Eulalia, 262. 

Eunuchs, 44, 50, 128, 132, 232. 

Euripides, 125. 

Eusebia, wife of Constantius, 52, 59. 

Eusebius, bp of Nicomedeia, 50, 250. 

Eustochium, correspondent of Jerome, 
128, 132, 133. 

Eutropius, the eunuch, 230, 232, 240, 
324. 

Eutropius, historian, 71 n. 5, 109. 

Evangelus (in Saturnalia), 174, 175, 
180. 

Evil, origin of, 202, 203, 211, 258, 328. 

Exposure of children, 8, 372. 


Fabiola founds a hospital, 129. 

Faltonia Proba, prob. not authoress of 
Cento, 144, 223. 

Faustus, the Manichaean, 206. 

Finance bad in Roman Empire, 3 

Firmus, 152, 157. 

Plavian, 157, 161, 171, 176. 

Flavian, the younger, son-in-law of 
Symmachus, ey: 159, 160. 

Fortuna, 182 n. 

Fox, George, 280, 290 n. 1. 

Free corn, etc. in Rome, 4, 153. 


Gainas, 231, 324, 327, 328. 

Gallic character, 27. 

Gallic ‘‘edacity,” 283. 

Gallic monasticism, 286; see chapter 


ΧΙ], 

Gallic oratory, 110, 151, 286 n. 2. 

_ Gallic soldiers in East, 25, 27. 
ae Caesar, 21, 38, 45, 49, 51, 52, 


Gellius, 173, 175, 176. 


391 

Geography, 34, 152. 

George, bp of Alexandria, 66, 281; 
his library, 52, 66, 281 n. 1. 

George, St, 133 n. 1. 

Germans in army, 8, 35, 36, 55 n. 4, 
326. 

German settlements, 8. 

Gildo, 157. 

Gladiators, 22; 80, 161, 250, 273. 

Golden Ass, 307, 367 n. 1. 

Gospel of Nicodemus, 378. 

Goths, 7, 228, 324, 326, 327. 

Gratian, 114, 115, 117, 120, 121, 151, 
153, 154. 

Greeks and Latin language, 33 n. 1, 
50 n. 3. 

Greek freedom, 2. 

Greek philosophy, its influence on 
Rome, 4. 

Gregory of Nazianzus, 53, 67. 

Gregory of Nyssa on pilgrimages, 144, 


Hebrew studied, 133; 
383. 

Heliodorus, 372. 

Hermes Trismegistus, 13, 65, 181, 192, 
348. 

Hesiod, 78, 81, 100, 272. 

Hippopotamus (rhetorical), 366. 

History, 10, 368. : 

Homer, see chapter iv. 48, 50, 53, 57, 
111, 182, 311, 888, 335, 365. 

Honorius, 217, 226, 230, 235, 241. 

Horace, 304; neglected by Macrobius, 
177; his relations with Augustus, — 
216. 

Horses from Spain, 161; at Cyrene, 
320, 336. 

Hypatia, 317, 318, 323, 324, 337, 338, 
339, 344 


Iamblichus, 12, 348. 

Ignatius, 279. 

Incarnation, 213, 260, 261, 264, 347, 
348. 

Isis, 78, 125, 307. 


sham Hebrew, 


Jerome, 
his rhetoric, 127, 148; 
on marriage, 128; 
on Roman manners, 128, 148; 
on scriptures, 276; 
his letters to Eustochium, 128, 299 
n. 5; 
on Rufinus, 368 ; i 
his Life of Paul the Hermit, 361 
n. 4, 386; 
on Jerusalem and its dangers, 144; 
on Centos, 145. 
Jerusalem, 295; relics at, 140, 141; 
, its disorders, 144; called Aelia, 140; 
the temple, 63 n, 5. 


392 


Jews, 2; 

hated, 48 n. 1, 109; 

Jewish exclusiveness, 15; 

befriended by Julian, 63 n. 5; 

refuted by Prudentius, 260; 

scattered through Empire, 48 n. 1, 

109, 295; 

in Cyrenaica, 321; 

sailors, 331; 

sabbath at sea, 332, 333; 

Jewish novels, 360, 363; 

a Jew converted by miracle, 369. 
Job’s tomb, 142; his dunghill, 143. 
Joshua the Stylite, 29 ἢ. 6, 35 n. 2, 

142 n.1. 

Jovian, 29, 73, 114. 
Judgment to come, 124, 191, 192 n. 1, 

210, 267, 285, 316. 

Julian, see chapter iii. passim. 
false views of, 47; difficulty of 
understanding, 48; 
escapes murder as a child, 49; 
in care of Eusebius of Nicomedeia, 


50; 

educated by Mardonius in Greek, 
esp. Homer, 50, 57; 

his fondness for Homer, 53, 62; 

leans to Greek, 50 n. 3, 70; 

but Roman elements in his charac- 
ter, 55 n. 5; 

removed to Macellum, 51; 

dislike of Bible, 51, 57; 

never understood Christianity, 51, 
75; 

early interest in philosophy, 52; 

attendance on lectures of philoso- 
phers, 57; 

at Athens, 52, 59; 

kept from hearing Libanius, 52; 

portrait by Gregory, 53; 

at Milan, 53, 59; 

made Caesar, 53; married to Helena, 
54; 

sent to Gaul, 53; panegyrics on 
Constantius, 60, 74, 226; 

his military successes in Gaul, 54; 

his success as administrator in Gaul, 
54, 254 n. 3. 

imitates Mareus Aurelius, 54, 76; 

his revolt, 55; 

sole Emperor, 55; 

his attempt to revive paganism, 56, 
308 ; 

influences that made him a heathen, 
56-62; 

fancies himself a demi-god, 58, 59, 

comes under influence of Maximus, 
58; 

his years of hypocrisy, 52, 59, 347; 

eee of his paganism, 59-62, 
56 n 


Index 


Julian: 

his Catholic Church of Hellenism, 63; 

tries to organize and purify priest- 
hoods, 64; 

hurried character of his writings, 64; 

attitude to life hereafter uneertain, 
65; 

his relations with Christian Church, 
66-71; 

his recall of Christian exiles, 41, 66; 

his schools decree, 68, 86, 114; 

results of his attack on Church, 69- 


112 
at Antioch, 71, 72; 
his interference with corn trade, 71; 
makes war on Persians, 72; 
his death, 73; 
his last words, 29, 73; 
his writings, 73 f.; 
his book against the Christians, 74; 
his literary style and Cyril’s criti- 
cism, 74; 
his parody of baptism, 75; 
his hatred of Constantine, 75; 
his Caesares, 75; 
general effect of his life, 76; 
feeling of Christians toward him, 
68, 254. 
Juvenal, 169, n. 3, 177, 232, 233, 243. 
Juvencus, 119, 124 n. 1, 251, 253, 275, 
369. 


oN as applied to Emperor, 6, 
325 f. 


Kingship, 74, 226, 325-7. 


Labarum, 78, 254. 

Lactantius, 6, 118. 

Laurentius, St, 261. 

Lessons in Church service, 140, 

Libanius, 30, 52, 57,112, 151, 199 n. 2. 

Literary men and Christianity, 40, 57, 
108. 

London, called Augusta by Ammianus, 
140 n. 1. 

Longinus, 51. 

Longus, see Daphnis and Chloe. 

Lot’s wife, 141, 142; ef. ref. on 259. 

Lucan, 87, 181, 231, 306. 

Lucian, 12, 63 n. 1, evr a 361, 362,367. 

Lucretius, 169 n. 3, 243 n. 3, 304, 305, 

Luxury, 326. 


Macrobius, see chapter viii. passim. 
little known of his life, 172; 
writes for his son, 172, 180, 185; 
illustrates Roman society, 171; 
ignores Christianity, 171; 
his character, 184,185; his religion, 

181; 
his Saturnalia, 173-185; 
nature of the Sat., 173, 176; 


Index 


Macrobius: 
sources of Sat., 173, 175, 178, 180; 
method and style of the Sat., 174,175; 
characters of Sat., 175; 
scene of Sat., 176; 
range of discussion in Sat., 176; 
his antiquarianism, 176 
avoids politics, 176; ignores the 
Empire, 183; 

on grammar, etc., 176, 177; 

on literature, 177; 

on ‘‘ science,” 178; 

on the Calendar, 178; 

on manners and tact, 178-180; 

on morals, 180, 181; 

on Virgil, 181-185; 

defects and values of his work, 171, 
185; 

his Commentary on Scipio’s Dream, 
186-192; 

his excursuses in Comm., 186, 187; 

outline of his Neo-Platonism, 189- 
192; 

on suicide, 192; 

contemporary criticisms of his doc- 
trines, 192, 193. 

Magic, 10, 30, 58, 203, 205, 340, 377. 

Mani, 200f., 205. 

Manichaeanism, 
its origin and general character, 

200-208 ; 
its adherents in classes, 201, 203; 
persecuted by Magi, 35 n. 2; 
its astronomy, 202, 205, 206. 

Manners in 4th century, 168, 178-180. 

Marcion, 258. 

Marcus Aurelius, 306, 307; imitated 
by Diocletian, 54 n. 5; and by Julian, 
54, 76. 

Mardonius, tutor of Julian, 50. 

Marriage, 5; Jerome on marriage, 128. 

Martin, St, see ch. xii. passim, 121, 
281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 292-4, 298- 
800 ; his miracles, 288-290; his Life 
by Sulpicius, 131, 296, 297. 

Martyries, 18, 23, 27, 123, 130, 136, 
142, 143, 250, 262, 264 n. 1. 

Maximin Daja, 63. 

Maximus, the magician, 13, 58. 

Maximus, the usurper, 111, 114, 121, 
156, 291-3. 

Melania, pilgrim, 130, 131. 

Military engines, 26. 

Minervius, 110, 151. 

Miracles, 288-291. 

Miscellanies, 173. 

Misopogon, 20 n. 2, 72. 

_ Mithras, 75, 78, 108, 181 n. 2. 

Monachism, 16, 18, 109, 279, 301, 

302, 316, 382: 
criticisms of Synesius on, 341; 
criticism of Rutilius, 48 n. 1. 


393 


Monnica, mother of Augustine, 
her training and marriage, 146, 197; 
her influence on Aug., 146, 147; 
impresses Aug. with the ‘‘name of 
Christ,” 147, 197, 203; 
her anxiety about Aug.’s opinions, 
146, 208: 
follows Aug. to Milan, 146, 207; 
at Cassisiacum, 147, 215; 
her intelligence, 147; 
her talk with Aug. at Ostia, 147; 
dies and is buried at Ostia, 147. 
Montanism, 17, 279. 
Musaeus, 85. 


Natural science, 34, 35, 178, 187. 
Nature and man, 85; and monks, 300. 
Nebo, Mt, 141. 

Nebridius, 205, 206, 207, 211. 

Neckar, river, 152. 

Nectarius, Bp of Constantinople, 349. 

Neo-Platonism; see especially chapters 

iii, vili, ix, xiv. 

outline of Neo-Platonic philosophy, 
188-192, 211, 212; 

as presented to Julian, 57; 

its general character, 12; 

not properly ascetic, 14; 

leans to asceticism, 18; 

its doctrine of communion with God, 
58, 212; 

its acceptance of Divine will, 60 n.1; 

had it a doctrine of ‘‘grace”? 59- 
61, 192, 213, 347; 

its doctrine of punishment of sin, 
191, 212; 

of life hereafter, 65, 189-192; 

rejects resurrection of body, 350; 

its relations with theurgy and magic, 
58, 192, 340; 

its influence for good, 14, 64 n. 3; 

its defects, 13, 14, 192, 193, 213, 347; 

a religion of disciples, 15, 338; 

its adherents, 13, 340; 

not a religion for common people, 
14, 64, 348; 

its influence on Augustine, 13, 211; 

Augustine’s criticism of it, 193; cf. 
212, 213, 348. 

Neoptolemus, voyage of, 83; 
murders Priam, 93. 

Neo-Pythagoreanism, 12. 

Nero, pretenders to name, 298. 

Nestorius, 257. 

Nicene Council, 17. 

Nicomedeia, 6, 7, 136. 

Niobe, 82, 315. 

Nisibis, 21, 23; surrendered to Per- 
sians by Jovian, 29, 143; tradition 
cited by Joshua the Stylite, 29 n. 6. 

Nitria, 133, 135. 

Nonnus, 10, 86, 90. 


394 


Novatianism, 17, 66, 72 n.3, 156, 279, 
339 n. 1, 

Novels, see chapter xv. passim, 64, 126. 
difficulty of dating novels, 357; 
their translations, 357, 360; 
contributing sources to a successful 

novel, 358; 
their classification, 359; 
novels of Troy, 359; 
Utopian novels, 359; 
apocalyptic novels (Er), 360; 
novels about Alexander, 360; 
these coloured by Indian tales, 360; 
versions of false Callisthenes, 360; 
novels of idealized heroes, 361; 
novels of travel, 362; 
love-tales, 362, 363; their charac- 
ter, 64, 362; 
chastity of heroine in love-tale, 363; 
novels with a purpose, 363; 
novels written by sophists, 364; 
style of sophists’ novels, 364, 365, 
368; : 
descriptions in novels, 365; 
descriptions of pictures, 365; 
descriptions of marvels, 366; 
magic in novels, 126, 366; 
mechanical adventures, 126, 367; 
no individuality in Greek novels, 


367; 
automaton heroes, 367; 
‘‘the fortuitous interference of 


Providence,” 367; 
differences of Christian from heathen 

novels, 368, 369, 376, 378; 
typical Christian novels, 369, 370; 
analysis of Achilles Tatius, 370-2; 
the novel of Longus, 372-376; 
Xanthippe and Polyxena, 376-8; 
the Descent into Hell, 378-381; 
the Apocalypse of Paul, 382, 383; 
the Life of Antony, 384-6; 
Jerome’s Life of Paul, 386. 


CEnone, 94-6. 

Oliphant, Laurence, 301, 302. 

ὁμοούσιος, 17, 156. 

Orbilius, 105. 

Ordination as a punishment, 349. 

Orfitus, father-in-law of Symmachus, 
152, 155. 

Origen, 126, 291, 351. 

Orosius, 228, 270. 

** Orpheus,” 363. 

Ovid, 88, 305. 


Paganism, change in, 5, 78, 243, 
305-9. 

Palladas, see chapter xili. passim. 
little known of him, 309 n. 1; 
character of his work, 309, 310, 313 ; 
his insistence on one note, 310; 


Tudex 


Palladas: 
a pessimist, 310, 317; 
his attitude to society, 310, 311; 
to literature, 311; 
his feeling toward Homer, 311, 312; 
a misogynist, 311, 312; 
his humour, 312, 313; 
his view of fortune, 313, 314; 
his philosophy, 315; 
his relations with Christianity, 
315-317; 
his despair of Greek world, 318, 319. 
Panegyrics, 60, 74, 120, 121, 151, 156, © 
210, 221-230. 
Pater’s Marius, 12, 63 n. 1; transla- 
tion from Claudian, 245. 
Paul, 15, 279; Julian’s view of, 51. 
Paul and Virginia, 358, 373. 
Paula, pilgrim, 131-3; her motives, 
132; on pilgrims, 143. 
Paula, grand-daughter of Paula the 
pilgrim, 172; her education, 128, 
129. 
Paulinus of Nola, 
pupil of Ausonius and very fond of 
him, 107, 123, 284; 

his correspondence with Ausonius, 
122-124; 

his correspondence with Sulpicius, 
284, 285; 

his rhetoric, 127, 283 n. 2; 

settles at Nola, 123; 

his view of world and religion, 123; 

and Melania, 131; and Silvia, 143, 
285. 

Pausanias, 82, 83. 

Pelagius, 213 n. 1, 300, 301. 

Pericles, Prince of Tyre, 362. 

Persecution of heretics, 292-4. 

Persius, 191 n. 2, 306, 

Petronius Probus, 145, 164, 167, 222, 

223; 
his sons, 165, 166, 222-5. 
Philoctetes in Quintus, 89, 96. 
Philosophy, influenced by Alexander’s 
conquest, 11; 
thereafter makes individual the 
centre, 11, 359; 
works for equality of mankind, 15. 

Philostratus, 12, 100 n. 2, 162 n. 2, 
359, 361, 368. 

Phycus, 321, 336. 

Physiology, 178. 

Picts, 225. 

Pictures in churches, 250, 261, 264 n.1, 
285, 

Pilgrimages, see chapter vi. passim. 
heathen pilgrimages, 125; 
Christian pilgrimages from 4th cen- 

tury on, 127; 
motives for a pilgrimage, 129, 135; 
pilgrims swarm to Palestine, 143; 


Index 


Pilgrimages: 
effects of pilgrimages on morals 
doubtful, 144; 
opinions of Gregory of Nyssa, Je- 
rome and Vigilantius, 144; 
scandals attached to, 144; 
pilgrimages to Rome and the Cata- 
combs, 236, 263. 
Pirates, 126, 180, 235. 
Plague, the great, 8, 321. 
Plato, 151, 260; see Neo-Platonism. 
Pliny and the School at Como, 106. 
Plotinus, 12, 212; see notes to pp. 
189-191. 
Plutarch, 173, 181, 360. 
Pollentia, battle of, 158, 228, 229, 272. 
Population, doctrine of, 7, 321. 
Porphyry, 12, 14, 209, 212, 328, 361; 
see notes on pp. 189-191. 
Postal arrangements, 123. 
Postumian’s journey to the East, 130, 
135, 296, 297, 347 n, 1. 
Praetextatus, 13, 148, 155, 162-4; in 
the Saturnalia, 168, 171, 174, 176, 
180-182; 
relations with Damasus, 163; 
his character and learning, 162; 
his religion, 162, 192; his wife’s 
monument to him, 163, 164. 
Praetorian prefects, 117-119. 
Priscillianism, 111, 121, 292-4. 
Proba, her cento, 144-6; read through 
Middle Ages, 146; 
not Faltonia, 144; 
her monument, 146. 
Proclus, 12, 59 πη. 3, 338. 
Procopius, historian, 322 n. 2. 
Procopius, pretender, 43. 
Proteus, sea-god, 351. 
Protonice, 141. 
Providence, 202, 231, 243, 317, 328, 
Prudentius, see chapter xi. passim. 
born at Caesaraugusta in 348 a.p., 
249, 251, 263; 
his age, 249, 250; 
his education, 251; studied rhetoric, 
251, 261; 
studies Virgil and Bible, 251,274,275 ; 
his youth and manhood, 252; 
an official of Empire, 252, 254 n. 3; 
his poetical career, 252, 253; 
his originality in literature, 254; 
his attitude toward Roman Empire, 
254; 
his Christianity, 254; 
his view of heathenism, 254; 
of heresy, 255, 256, 265; 
discusses purpose of Empire, 255, 
256; 
his tolerance, 254 n. 3, 257; 
his writings all have practical aim, 
254, 257; 


395 


Prudentius : 

holds Nicene Creed, 251, 257; 

his handling of doctrine, 257; 

his Hamartigenia, 257-260; 

on evil, 258; heaven and hell, 259; 

his Apotheosis on the nature of 
Christ, 260, 261; 

Peri Stephanon, 261-4; 

on conversion of Senate, 262, 271; 

his love of the horrible, 262; 

his polemicsafter Tertullian,263, 273; 

his Psychomachia and its signifi- 
cance, 264, 265; 

on the Cross, 254, 265; 

his Cathemerinon, 265-9; 

Cath. used in breviary, 265; 

character of his work in Cath., 266; 

his reply to Symmachus, 269-273 ; 

on early heathen training, 271; 

his courtesy, 271; 

contrasted with Claudian, 255, 273; 

his plea for abolition of gladiatorial 
games, 273; 

his weak points, 273; 

his rhetoric and list-making, 273; 

his treatment of metre, 274; 

his neglect of Psalter, 276; 

his popularity in Middle Ages, 264. 

passages translated, 259, 267, 277. 


Quebee, city, 84; Ste Anne de Beaupré, 
289. 


Quintus of Smyrna, see chapter iv. 

passim. 

position of, in literature, 77; 

who was he? 79; 

his probable date, 79; 

Sainte-Beuve on, 80, 81, 87, 92, 98; 

his reference to Smyrna, 81; 

his interest in scenery of Asia Minor, 
82-84; 

his knowledge of country life, 84, 85; 

his interest in horses, 85; 

wrote by ear, 86; excellence of his 
rhythm, 90; 

dominated by Homer, but not a 
cento, 86; 

is he a patchwork of Cyclici? 86; 

indications that he studied Hesiod, 
78, 81, 100; 

his anachronisms, 87; 

gentler character of his heroes, 87; 

compared with Ovid, 88; 

his occasional rhetorical passages, 
86, 88, 91; 

his doctrine of Fate, 89, 96, 97; 

inconsistencies in his poem, 89, 90; 

his excessive length, 90; 

his similes, 88, 91; 

various estimates of Quintus, 91; 

compared with Virgil, 83, 92; 

his simplesse, 93, 96; 


396 


Quintus of Smyrna: 
confusion of his ideas, 97,98, 99,100; 
his conception of sin or guilt, 89, 
96, 99; 
conclusion, 100, 101. 


Rachel and Jacob, 143. 

Rafting, 85. 

Relics, 18, 24, 180, 131, 143, 250, 285. 

Remmius Palaemon, 105. 

Revival of literature in 4th century, 10. 

Revival of paganism, 5, 15, 181, 243, 
289, 305-9. 

Rhetoric, 11, 88, 91, 105, 110, 184, 
195, 231, 251, 273, 330, 335, 359, 
364 f. 

Rhetoric and letter-writing, 158 n. 1, 
372. 

Roads, 2, 126, 135. 

Roman Empire, meant peace and 

order, 1; 

its union of mankind, 238, 239, 
255, 256; 

its weakness, 3; 

its oppression, 229, 230; 

its relation to nationalism, 2; 

impression it made on mankind, 
236, 237, 238; 

eternity of, 3, 119, 238; 

its purpose, 255, 256; 

finance. bad, 3; 

. maladministration of justice, 327; 
loss of population, 7, 321; 
decline in art, etc., 9; 

German settlements in, 8; 

and Church, 16; 

runaways, 23, 25, 37 n. 2; 

and education, 3, 110; (see Educa- 
tion) ; 

its re-organization by Diocletian, 
bs a7, TIS 

development of Sultanism, 17, 221, 
326, cf. 329 n. 1; 

its paralysing effect, 343. 

Romans, see chapters vii. viii. 
gentlemen, 44; 
luxury of, 44; 
their eunuchs, 44; 
their horses, 44; 
their slang, 44; 
their brawls for corn, etc., 45; 
society in Rome, 44, 127, 165; 
Jerome on Christians of Rome, 128; 
their reading, 44, 169; see ch. viii. 

Rome, city of, 
not much visited by Emperors, 6; 
taxed by Galerius, 169 n. 1; 
visit of Constantius, 48, 155, 269; 
capture by Goths, 7, 249; 
Ammianus on Rome, 43, 44; 
its impressiveness, 44, 237; 
its insignificance, 6; 


Index 


Rome, city of: 
Senate consulted by Stilicho, 157; 
Rome personified, 223, 270, 272; 
Rome and the gods, 237, 238, 239, 
272, 273; 
tradition of freedom, 167, 228; its 
free food, 4, 153. 
Rufinus (minister of Arcadius), 134, 
230-232, 324; his ‘‘dissection,” 281. 
Rufinus, theologian, 134, 368. 
Rusticiana, wife of Symmachus, 152, 
159. 
Rutilius, 48 n.1, 109, 226 n. 1. 


Saansaan, 26. 
Sabinianus, 23. 
Saint-worship, 250, 261, 329 n. 1; see 
Martyries. 
St Pierre, Bernardin de, 358, 365, 373. 
Sallust, 166, 179. 
Sapor IT., 26-28. 
Saracens, 35 n. 2, 138, 240. 
Sassanian kings, their official language, 
26 n. 3; 
their relations with Roman Empire 
and Christianity, 35. 
Saturnalia; see Macrobius. 
Satyrs, 361. 
Saxons, 161, 225. 
Scepticism, 4, 12. 
Scots, 225; Scottish dogs, 161. 
Semiramis, 225, 228, 331. 
Serapeum, 32, 316. 
Serapis, 65; his monks, 279. 
Sextus Empiricus, 12. 
Silk, 129, 161, 223. 
Silvanus, 22. 
Silvia, 
who is she? 133, 134; 
Palladius’ Silvia, 134; 
“Silvia” of the Pilgrimage, 134; 
her motives, 135. 
her possible routes from Gaul to 
Palestine, 135, 136; 
her accuracy of observation, 136; 
her style, 136; 
her visit to Sinai quoted, 187-140; 
her account of usages of Church at 
Jerusalem, 140; 
sees Mt Nebo, 141; 
does not see Lot’s wife, 141; 
sees Job’s tomb, 142; 
visits Edessa and martyry of St 
Thomas, 142; 
reads Acta Thomac, 142; 
sees our Lord’s letter to Abgar, 143 ; 
visits Haran, 143; 
returns to Constantinople, 143; 
her subsequent story, 143. 
Sinai, 137-140. 
Sipylus, 82. 
Slang, 44. 


Index 


Slavery, 3, 5, 168, 180. 
Smyrna, 81. 
Socrates, historian, 20 n. 2, 56 n. 2, 
69, 156, 368. 
Socrates, philosopher, 60, 125, 161. 
Soldiers, 333, 343. 
Soldiers’ habits, 35; marriages, 7, 8. 
Soothsayers, 40. 
Sophocles Ajax, 88, 89, 332. 
Sortes Biblicae, 215, 282, 386. 
Sozomen, historian, 56 n. 2, 382. 
Stevenson, R. L., 340 n. 1, 352. 
Stilicho, 164, 217, 229, 230, 231, 237; 
patron of Claudian, 218 ff., 229; and 
Alaric, 228, 229. 
Stoicism, 5, 11. 
Strabo, 83, 320. 
Sulpicius Severus, see chapter xii. 
passim. 
his birth and early years, 282, 283; 
loses his wife, 283; 
forsakes the world, 283; 
does not forsake literature, 283; 
literary exponent of St Martin, 284; 
his correspondence with Paulinus, 
284, 285; 
his humour, 284; 
builds a baptistery, 285; 
his brilliance, 285; 
his religious temper, 281, 285; 
character of his writings, 286, 287; 
his use of Virgil, 287; 
his credulity, 287-291; 
his good faith, 288; 
a sound judge of character, 291-4; 
and Maximus, 291, 292, 294; 
and Priscillianism, 292-4; 
his writings, 294—7; 
his Chronicle, 284, 294-6; 
and the Prophets, 295; 
his Life of Martin, 131, 296f.; its 
success, 297; 
his Dialogue, 296f.; 
his millenarism, 295, 297, 298; 
and ill-will of bishops, 299; 
did he become a Pelagian? 300, 301. 
Symmachus, L. Avianius, Praef. Urbi, 
364 a.v., 150; ~ 
praised by Ammianas{ 45,150; met 
Libanius, 151; 
his house burnt by mob, 152; 
his verses, 103, 159. 
Symmachus, Ὁ. Aurelius, a representa- 
tive of Roman society, 150; 
character of his correspondence, as 
edited by his son, 149, 158; 
his own opinion of his letters, 149, 
158; 
his monument, 149; 
his high birth, 150, 169; a gentle- 
man, 170; 
his education, 150; ᾿ 


397 


Symmachus, Q. Aurelius: 
not a philosopher, 150; not very 
intelligent, 170; 
narrow range of his interests, 169; 
perhaps a pupil of Minervius, 151; 
his style, 151, 158, 165; 
his panegyries, 151, 156; 
with Valentinian on campaign a- 
gainst Germans, 151; 
his friendship with Ausonius, 102, 
115, 152; 
pro-consul of Africa, 152; 
marries Rusticiana, 152, 159; 
his speeches, 153; his Relationes, 
154; 
and the altar of Victory, 153-155; 
sends Augustine to Milan, 108, 156, 
208 ; 
episode of Maximus, 156; 
episode of Eugenius, 157; 
affair of Gildo, 157; 
his letters, 158-162, 164-168; 
as son, 159; 
as father, 159-162; 
his valetudinarianism, 159; 
his daughter, 159, 160; 
gives games for his son, 160-162; 
his views on friendship, 162; 
and bishops,-164; and professors, 
165; 
Gibbon’s opinion of him, 166; 
he ignores Christianity, 167, 171; 
a champion of paganism, 169, 171; 
scarcely alludes to Empire, 167; 
but evidence for state of Empire, 167; 
and the Senate, 167, 168; 
his villas, 167; 
on slaves, 168; : 
and the chariot, 154, 169; 
his death, 157; 
in the Saturnalia, 176, 179. 
Symmachus, Q. Fabius, 
edited his father’s letters, 149; 
made Quaestor by Eugenius, 157, 
160; 
made Praetor by Honorius, 160; 
his marriage, 162. 
Syncretism, 181. 
Synesius, see chapter xiv. passim. 
his ancestry, 322; his brother, 323, 
336, 343; 
birth, 323; 
boyhood, 320, 323; 
his dogs, 320, 337, 342, 350; 
his horses, 320, 336; 
his slaves, 181 ἢ. 1, 191; 
his love of Cyrene and its history, 
321, 322, 324, 344; 
his mind and nature, 322, 338, 339, 
352; 
his style, 322, 330, 335, 340, 351; 
his love of quiet, 323, 336; 


398 


Synesius: 

his use of philosophic terms, 323, 349; 

his friendship with Hypatia, 323, 
337, 339, 342, 344; 

his visits to Alexandria, 323, 330, 
337, 351; 

goes to Constantinople, 324; 

his adventures there, 329; 

his friends there, 324, 329, 334; 

his speech de Regno, 325-327; 

his book on Providence, 327, 328, 337; 

leaves Constantinople, 329; 

returns to Cyrene, 330; 

voyage from Alexandria to Cyrene, 
330-4; 

his mss., 330 ἢ. 1; 

his thoughts on Homer, 333; 

his life in Cyrenaica, 334, 335; 

his marriage, 337; 

his views on women, 337; 

his visit to Athens, 337, 338; 

his book Dio, 339; 

his philosophy, 338, 340, 341, 354; 

his movement toward Christianity, 
329, 340, 346-8; 

on Dreams, 341, 342; 

his Praise of Baldness, 342, 343; 

his vigour against barbarian in- 
vaders, 343-6; ᾿ 

his hymns, 346, 353-6; 

elected bp of Ptolemais, 349; 

his hesitation about accepting 
bishopric, 349-351; 

had he as bp to part with his wife? 
350; 

his difficulties as bp, 351-353; 

loses his children, 351, 352; 

his conduct as bp, 352, 353; 

Mrs Browning’s judgment on him, 
322, 354; 

Mrs Browning’s rendering of Hymn 
ix., 355. 


Table-talk, 179, 180. 

Tacitus, 38, 287. 

Taurobolium, 163, 192. 

Taxation of middle class, 4, 36, 37; 
methods, 164, 167, 230. 

Tennyson on Quintus, 92; Death of 
(none, 85, 95; on Catullus, 113 
n. 1, 304; on Virgil, 184. 

Tertullian, 3, 108, 236, 252, 253, 255, 
260 n. 1, 263, 267, 368, 385. 

Thecla, 127, 131, 136, 241, 378. 

Theodorus, affair of, 30, 31. 

Theodosius, father of Theodosius I., 
152, 225. 

Theodosius I., 32, 102, 121, 156, 157, 
224, 225, 229, 241; as a star, 228, 
234, 235. 


Index 


Theodosius ITI., 106, 382. 

Theognis, 310. 

Theophilus, bp of Alexandria, 291, 
325, 347, 350, 351, 353. 

Therapeutae, 360. 

Theresa, 262 n, 1. 

Theurgy, 58, 192, 340. 

Thomas, St, his bones brought to 
Edessa, 142; his Acts, 142, 370. 

Thucydides and Christianity, 68. 

Tibullus, 305. 

Titus of Bostra, 66. 

Travel in Roman world, 125 f. 

Tribigild, 232, 325, 327. 

Trismegistus, see Hermes. 

Troy, its capture in Quintus and in 
Virgil, 86, 87; romance of Troy, 
359. 


Uncle Tom’s Cabin, 384. 
Ursivinus, 21, 22, 23, 24, 28. 
Utopias, 359. 


Valens, Emperor, 30, 31, 131, 229. 
Valentinian 1., 42, 102, 114, 115, 151, 
152, 229. 
Valentinian 11., 154, 156, 210. 
Verecundia imperialis, 14, 43. 
Verney papers, 148. 
Vestal virgins, 127, 153, 155, 170, 270. 
Vicisti Galilee, 29. 
Victory, altar of, 153-155, 156, 157, 
240, 269-273. 
Virgil, see chapter viii. 
on Roman Empire, 8; 
and Augustus, 216; 
on Italy, 183; 
charm of Aeneid, 11, 108, 111; 
Lucretius and Virgil, 305; 
voyage of Aeneas, 83, 84. 
Augustine and Virgil, 108, 184, 198; 
Jerome and Virgil, 132; 
Macrobius and Virgil, 181-185; 
Virgil the embodiment of all know- 
ledge, 181; 
Virgil, a magician, 368 n. 2. 
passages discussed 
Aen. ili. 270-293, 83, 84; 
iii, 21, 182: 
iii. 284, 183. 
Virgin Mary, 242. 
Virgins, Christian, 127, 300; 
education of a nun, 128, 129. 


Woman and the Church, see ch. vi., 
127 f. 


Zosimus, 31 ἢ. 5, 217 ἢ. 1, 228, 230, 
287. 


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